Youth  of  Paul  and  Virginia. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 


BERNARDIN   DE  SAINT  PIERRE. 


MEMOIR  OF  THE  AUTHOR. 


ILLUSTRATED. 


NEW  YORK: 

JOHN    WURTELE    LOVELL, 
14  &  16  ASTOR  PLACE. 


PREFACE. 


IN  introducing  to  the  Public  the  present  edition  of 
this  well  known  and  affecting  Tale, — the  chef-d'oeuvre  of 
its  gifted  author,  the  Publishers  take  occasion  to  say, 
that  it  affords  them  no  little  gratification,  to  apprise  the 
numerous  admirers  of  "  Paul  and  Virginia,"  that  the 
entire  work  of  St.  Pierre  is  now  presented  to  them.  All  the 
previous  editions  have  been  disfigured  by  interpolations, 
and  mutilated  by  numerous  omissions  and  alterations, 
which  have  had  the  effect  of  reducing  it  from  the  rank  of 
a  Philosophical  Tale,  to  the  level  of  a  mere  story  for 
children. 

Of  the  merits  of  "  Paul  and  Virginia,"  it  is  hardly 
necessary  to  utter  a  word  ;  it  tells  its  own  story  elo- 
quently and  impressively,  and  in  a  language  simple, 
natural  and  true,  it  touches  the  common  heart  of  the 
world.  There  are  but  few  works  that  have  obtained  a 
greater  degree  of  popularity ,  none  are  more  deserving  it ; 
and  the  Publishers  cannot  therefore  refrain  from  express- 
ing a  hope  that  their  efforts  in  thus  giving  a  faithful 

2039401 


4  PREFACE. 

transcript  of  the  work, — an  acknowledged  classic  by  the 
European  world, — may  be,  in  some  degree,  instrumental 
in  awakening  here,  at  home,  a  taste  for  those  higher 
works  of  Fancy,  which,  while  they  seek  to  elevate  and 
strengthen  the  understanding,  instruct  and  purify  the 
heart.  It  is  in  this  character  that  the  Tale  of  "  Paul  and 
Virginia"  ranks  pre-eminent. 


MEMOIR 


OF 


BERNARDIN    DE   ST.   PIERRE 


LOVE  of  Nature,  that  strong  feeling  of  enthusiasm  which 
leads  to  profound  admiration  of  the  whole  works  of  creation, 
belongs,  it  may  be  presumed,  to  a  certain  peculiarity  of  organiza- 
tion, and  has,  no  doubt,  existed  in  different  individuals  from 
the  beginning  of  the  world.  The  old  poets  and  philosophers, 
romance  writers  and  troubadours  had  all  looked  upon  Nature 
with  observing  and  admiring  eyes.  They  have  most  of  them 
given  incidentally  charming  pictures  of  spring,  of  the  setting 
sun,  of  particular  spots,  and  of  favorite  flowers. 

There  are  few  writers  of  note,  of  any  country  or  of  any  age, 
from  whom  quotations  might  not  be  made  in  proof  of  the  love 
with  which  they  regarded  Nature.  And  this  remark  applies 
as  much  to  religious  and  philosophic  writers  as  to  poets, — 
equally  to  Plato,  St.  Frangois  de  Sales,  Bacon  and  Fenelon,  as 
to  Shakspeare,  Racine,  Calderon,  or  Burns  ;  for  from  no  really 
philosophic  or  religious  doctrine  can  the  love  of  the  works  of 
Nature  be  excluded. 

But  before  the  days  of  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau,  Buffon,  and 
Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre,  this  love  of  Nature  had  not  been 
expressed  in  all  its  intensity.  Until  their  day,  it  had  not  been 
written  on  exclusively.  The  lovers  of  Nature  were  not,  till 
then,  as  they  may  perhaps  since  be  considered,  a  sect  apart. 
Though  perfectly  sincere  in  all  the  adoration  they  offered, 
they  were  less  entirely,  and  certainly  less  diligently  and  con- 
stantly, her  adorers. 

It  is  the  great  praise  of  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre,  that  com- 
ing immediately  after  Rousseau  and  Buffon  and  being  one 
of  the  most  proficient  writers  of  the  same  school,  he  was  in  no 
degree  their  imitator,  but  perfectly  original  and  new.  He  in- 
tuitively perceived  the  immensity  of  the  subject  he  intended  to 

17  «> 


6  MEMOIR  OF  BERNARDIN  DE  ST.  PIERRE. 

explore,  and  has  told  us  that  no  day  of  his  life  passed  without 
his  collecting  some  valuable  materials  for  his  writings.  In  the 
divine  works  of  Nature,  he  diligently  sought  to  discover  her 
laws.  It  was  his  early  intention  not  to  begin  to  write  until  he 
had  ceased  to  observe  ;  but  he  found  observation  endless,  and 
that  he  was  "  like  a  child,  who  with  a  shell  digs  a  hole  in  the 
sand  to  receive  the  waters  of  the  ocean."  He  elsewhere 
humbly  says,  that  not  only  the  general  history  of  Nature,  but 
even  that  of  the  smallest  plant,  was  far  beyond  his  ability. 
Before,  however,  speaking  further  of  him  as  an  author,  it  will 
be  necessary  to  recapitulate  the  chief  events  of  his  life. 

HENRI-JACQUES  BERNARDIN  DE  ST.  PIERRE,  was  born  at 
Havre  in  1737.  He  always  considered  himself  descended  from 
Eustache  de  St.  Pierre,  who  is  said  by  Froissart  (and  I  believe 
by  Froissart  only),  to  have  so  generously  offered  himself  as 
a  victim  to  appease  the  wrath  of  Edward  the  Third  against 
Calais.  He,  with  his  companions  in  virtue,  it  is  also  said,  was 
saved  by  the  intercession  of  Queen  Philippa.  In  one  of  his 
smaller  works,'  Bernardin  asserts  this  descent,  and  it  was  cer- 
tainly one  of  which  he-might  be  proud.  Many  anecdotes  are 
related  of  his  childhood,  indicative  of  the  youthful  author, — of 
his  strong  love  of  Nature,  and  his  humanity  to  animals. 

That  "  the  child  is  father  of  the  man,"  has  been  seldom 
more  strongly  illustrated.  There  is  a  story  of  a  cat,  which, 
when  related  by  him  many  years  afterwards  to  Rousseau, 
caused  that  philosopher  to  shed  tears.  At  eight  years  of  age, 
he  took  the  greatest  pleasure  in  the  regular  culture  of  his 
garden  ;  and  possibly  then  stored  up  some  of  the  ideas  which 
aftenvards  appeared  in  the  "  Fraisier."  His  sympathy  with  all 
living  things  was  extreme. 

In  "  Paul  and  Virginia,"  he  praises,  with  evident  satisfac- 
tion, their  meal  of  milk  and  eggs,  which  had  not  cost  any  animal 
its  life.  It  has  been  remarked,  and  possibly  with  truth,  that 
every  tenderly  disposed  heart,  deeply  imbued  with  a  love  of 
Nature,  is  at  times  somewhat  Braminical.  St.  Pierre's  certainly 
was. 

When  quite  young,  he  advanced  with  a  clenched  fist  towards 
a  carter  who  was  ill-treating  a  horse.  And  when  taken  for 
the  first  time,  by  his  father,  to  Rouen,  having  the  towers  of  the 
cathedral  pointed  out  to  him,  he  exclaimed,  "My  God!  how 
high  they  fly."  Every  one  present  naturally  laughed.  Ber- 
nardin had  only  noticed  the  flight  of  some  swallows  who  had 
built  their  nests  there.  He  thus  early  revealed  those  instincts 
which  afterwards  became  the  guidance  of  his  life  ;  the  strength 


MEMOIR  OF  BERNARDIN  DE  ST.  PIERRE.  7 

of  which  possibly  occasioned  his  too  great  indifference  to  all 
monuments  of  art.  The  love  of  study  and  of  solitude  were  also 
characteristics  of  his  childhood.  His  temper  is  said  to  have 
been  moody,  impetuous,  and  intractable.  Whether  this  faulty 
temper  may  not  have  been  produced  or  rendered  worse  by 
mismanagement,  cannot  now  be  ascertained.  It  undoubtedly 
became  afterwards,  to  St.  Pierre,  a  fruitful  source  of  misfortune 
and  of  woe. 

The  reading  of  voyages  was  with  him,  even  in  childhood, 
almost  a  passion.  At  twelve  years  of  age,  his  whole  soul  was 
occupied  by  Robinson  Crusoe  and  his  island.  His  romantic 
love  of  adventure  seeming  to  his  parents  to  announce  a  predi- 
lection in  favor  of  the  sea,  he  was  sent  by  them  with  one  of 
his  uncles  to  Martinique.  But  St.  Pierre  had  not  sufficiently 
practised  the  virtue  of  obedience  to  submit,  as  was  necessary, 
to  the  discipline  of  a  ship.  He  was  afterwards  placed  with  the 
Jesuits  at  Caen,  with  whom  he  made  immense  progress  in  his 
studies.  But,  it  is  to  be  feared,  he  did  not  conform  too  well  to 
the  regulations  of  the  college,  for  he  conceived,  from  that  time, 
the  greatest  detestation  for  places  of  public  education.  And 
this  aversion  he  has  frequently  testified  in  his  writings.  While 
devoted  to  his  books  of  travels,  he  in  turn  anticipated  being  a 
Jesuit,  a  missionary  or  a  martyr  ;  but  his  family  at  length  suc- 
ceeded in  establishing  him  at  Rouen,  where  he  completed  his 
studies  with  brilliant  success,  in  1757.  He  soon  after  obtained 
a  commission  as  an  engineer,  with  a  salary  of  one  hundred 
louis.  In  this  capacity  he  was  sent  (1760)  to  Dusseldorf, 
under  the  command  of  Count  St.  Germain.  This  was  a  career 
in  which  he  might  have  acquired  both  honor  and  fortune ;  but, 
most  unhappily  for  St.  Pierre,  he  looked  upon  the  useful  and 
necessary  etiquettes  ot  life  of  as  many  unworthy  prejudices. 
Instead  of  conforming  to  them,  he  sought  to  trample  on  them. 
In  addition,  he  evinced  some  disposition  to  rebel  against  his 
commander,  and  was  unsocial  with  his  equals.  It  is  not,  there- 
fore, to  be  wondered  at,  that  at  this  unfortunate  period  of  his 
existence,  he  made  himself  enemies ;  or  that,  notwithstanding 
his  great  talents,  or  the  coolness  he  had  exhibited  in  moments 
of  danger,  he  should  have  been  sent  back  to  France.  Unwel- 
come, under  these  circumstances,  to  his  family,  he  was  ill 
received  by  all. 

It  is  a  lesson  yet  to  be  learned,  that  genius  gives  no  charter 
for  the  indulgence  of  error, — a  truth  yet  to  be  remembered, 
that  only  a  small  portion  of  the  world  will  look  with  leniency 
OB  the  failings  of  the  highly  gifted  ;  and,  that  from  themselves, 


g  MEMOIR  OF  BERNARDIN  DE  ST.  PIERRE. 

the  consequences  of  their  own  actions  can  never  be  averted.  It 
is  yet,  alas  !  to  be  added  to  the  convictions  of  the  ardent  in 
mind,  that  no  degree  of  excellence  in  science  or  literature,  not 
even  the  immortality  of  a  name,  can  exempt  its  possessor  from 
obedience  to  moral  discipline  ;  or  give  him  happiness,  unless 
"temper's  image  "  be  stamped  on  his  daily  words  and  actions. 
St.  Pierre's  life  was  sadly  embittered  by  his  own  conduct.  The 
adventurous  life  he  led  after  his  return  from  Dusseldorf,  some 
of  the  circumstances  of  which  exhibited  him  in  an  unfavorable 
light  to  others,  tended,  perhaps,  to  tinge  his  imagination  with 
that  wild  and  tender  melancholy  so  prevalent  in  his  writings. 
A  prize  in  the  lottery  had  just  doubled  his  very  slender  means 
of  existence,  when  he  obtained  the  appointment  of  geographical 
engineer,  and  was  sent  to  Malta.  The  Knights  of  the  Order 
were  at  this  time  expecting  to  be  attacked  by  the  Turks.  Hav- 
ing already  been  in  the  service,  it  was  singular  that  St.  Pierre 
should  have  had  the  imprudence  to  sail  without  his  commission. 
He  thus  subjected  himself  to  a  thousand  disagreeables,  for  the 
officers  would  not  recognize  him  as  one  of  themselves.  The 
effects  of  their  neglect  on  his  mind  were  tremendous  ;  his  rea- 
son for  a  time  seemed  almost  disturbed  by  the  mortifications 
he  suffered.  After  receiving  an  insufficient  indemnity  for  the 
expenses  of  his  voyage,  St.  Pierre  returned  to  France,  there  to 
endure  fresh  misfortunes. 

Not  being  able  to  obtain  any  assistance  from  the  ministry 
or  his  family,  he  resolved  on  giving  lessons  in  the  mathematics. 
But  St.  Pierre  was  less  adapted  than  most  others  for  succeed- 
ing in  the  apparently  easy,  but  really  ingenious  and  difficult, 
art  of  teaching.  When  education  is  better  understood,  it  will 
be  more  generally  acknowledged,  that,  to  impart  instruction 
with  success,  a  teacher  must  possess  deeper  intelligence 
than  is  implied  by  the  profoundest  skill  in  any  one  branch  of 
science  or  of  art.  All  minds,  even  to  the  youngest,  require, 
while  being  taught,  the  utmost  compliance  and  consideration ; 
and  these  qualities  can  scarcely  be  properly  exercised  without 
a  true  knowledge  of  the  human  heart,  united  to  much  practical 
patience.  St.  Pierre,  at  this  period  of  his  life,  certainly  did  not 
possess  them.  It  is  probable  that  Rousseau,  when  he  attempted 
in  his  youth  to  give  lessons  in  music,  not  knowing  anything 
whatever  of  music,  was  scarcely  less  fitted  for  the  task  of  in- 
struction, than  St.  Pierre  with  all  his  mathematical  knowledge. 
The  pressure  of  poverty  drove  him  to  Holland.  He  was  well 
received  at  Amsterdam,  by  a  French  refugee  named  Mustel, 
who  edited  a  popular  journal  there,  and  who  procured,  him  em-. 


MEMOIR  OF  BERNARDIN  DE  ST.  PIERRE.  9 

ployment,  with  handsome  remuneration.  St.  Pierre  did  not, 
however,  remain  long  satisfied  with  this  quiet  mode  of  existence. 
Allured  by  the  encouraging  reception  given  by  Catherine  II.  to 
foreigners,  he  set  out  for  St.  Petersburg.  Here,  until  he  ob- 
tained the  protection  of  the  Marechal  de  Munich,  and  the  friend- 
ship of  Duval,  he  had  again  to  contend  with  poverty.  The 
latter  generously  opened  to  him  his  purse,  and  by  the  Marechal 
he  was  introduced  to  Villebois,  the  Grand  Master  of  Artillery, 
and  by  him  presented  to  the  Empress.  St.  Pierre  was  so  hand- 
some, that  by  some  of  his  friends  it  was  supposed,  perhaps, 
too,  hoped,  that  he  would  supersede  Orloff  in  the  favor  of  Cath- 
erine. But  more  honorable  illusions,  though  they  were  but  il- 
lusions, occupied  his  own  mind.  He  neither  sought  nor  wished 
to  captivate  the  Empress.  His  ambition  was  to  establish  a  re- 
public on  the  shores  of  the  lake  Aral,  of  which,  in  imitation  of 
Plato  or  Rousseau,  he  was  to  be  the  legislator.  Pre-occupied 
with  the  reformation  of  despotism,  he  did  not  sufficiently  look 
into  his  own  heart,  or  seek  to  avoid  a  repetition  of  the  same 
errors  that  had  already  changed  friends  into  enemies,  and  been 
such  a  terrible  barrier  to  his  success  in  life.  His  mind  was  al- 
ready morbid,  and  in  fancying  that  others  did  not  understand 
him,  he  forgot  that  he  did  not  understand  others.  The  Em- 
press, with  the  rank  of  captain,  bestowed  on  him  a  grant  of  fif- 
teen hundred  francs ;  but  when  General  Dubosquet  proposed 
to  take  him  with  him  to  examine  the  military  position  of  Fin- 
land, his  only  anxiety  seemed  to  be  to  return  to  France  :  still 
he  went  to  Finland  ;  and  his  own  notes  of  his  occupations  and 
experiments  on  that  expedition  prove,  that  he  gave  himself  up 
in  all  diligence  to  considerations  of  attack  and  defence.  He, 
who  loved  Nature  so  intently,  seems  only  to  have  seen  in  the 
extensive  and  majestic  forests  of  the  north,  a  theatre  of  war.  In 
this  instance,  he  appears  to  have  stifled  every  emotion  of  admi- 
ration, and  to  have  beheld,  alike,  cities  and  countries  in  his 
character  of  military  surveyor. 

On  his  return  to  St.  Petersburg,  he  found  his  protector 
Villebois,  disgraced.  St.  Pierre  then  resolved  on  espousing  the 
cause  of  the  Poles.  He  went  into  Poland  with  a  high  reputa- 
tion,— that  of  having  refused  the  favors  of  despotism,  to  aid  the 
cause  of  liberty.  But  it  was  his  private  life,  rather  than  his 
public  career,  that  was  affected  by  his  residence  in  Poland. 
The  Princess  Mary  fell  in  love  with  him,  and,  forgetful  of  all 
considerations,  quitted  her  family  to  reside  with  him.  Yield- 
ing, however,  at  length,  to  the  entreaties  of  her  mother,  she  re- 
turned to  her  home.  "  St.  Pierre,  filled  with  regret,  resorted  to 


10  MEMOIR  OF  BERNARDIN  DE  ST.  PIERRE. 

Vienna ;  but,  unable  to  support  the  sadness  which  oppressed 
him,  and  imagining  that  sadness  to  be  shared  by  the  Princess, 
he  soon  went  back  to  Poland.  His  return  was  still  more  sad 
than  his  departure  \  for  he  found  himself  regarded  by  her  who 
had  once  loved  him,  as  an  intruder.  It  is  to  this  attachment 
he  alludes  so  touchingly  in  one  of  his  letters.  "  Adieu !  friends 
dearer  than  the  treasures  of  India  !  Adieu !  forests  of  the 
North,  that  I  shall  never  see  again  ! — tender  friendship,  and 
the  still  dearer  sentiments  which  surpassed  it ! — days  of  intoxi- 
cation and  of  happiness  adieu  !  adieu  !  We  live  but  for  a  day, 
to  die  during  a  whole  life  !  " 

This  letter  appears  to  one  of  St.  Pierre's  most  partial  bio- 
graphers, as  if  steeped  in  tears  ;  and  he  speaks  of  his  romantic 
and  unfortunate  adventure  in  Poland,  as  the  ideal  of  a  poet's 
love. 

"  To  be,"  says  M.  Sainte-Beuve,  "  a  great  poet,  and  loved 
before  he  had  thought  of  glory  !  To  exhale  the  first  perfume 
of  a  soul  of  genius,  believing  himself  only  a  lover !  To  reveal 
himself,  for  the  first  time,  entirely,  but  in  mystery ! " 

In  his  enthusiasm,  M.  Sainte-Beuve  loses  sight  of  the  mel- 
ancholy sequel,  which  must  have  left  so  sad  a  remembrance  in 
St.  Pierre's  own  mind.  His  suffering,  from  this  circum- 
stance, may  perhaps  have  conduced  to  his  making  Virginia  so 
good  and  true,  and  so  incapable  of  giving  pain. 

In  1766,  he  returned  to  Havre  ;  but  his  relations  were  by 
this  time  dead  or  dispersed,  and  after  six  years  of  exile,  he 
found  himself  once  more  in  his  own  country,  without  employ- 
ment and  destitute  of  pecuniary  resources. 

The  Baron  de  Breteuil  at  length  obtained  for  him  a  com- 
mission as  Engineer  to  the  Isle  of  France,  whence  he  returned 
in  1771.  In  this  interval,  his  heart  and  imagination  doubtless 
received  the  germs  of  his  immortal  works.  Many  of  the  events, 
indeed,  of  the  "  Voyagte  a  1'Ile  de  France,"  are  to  be  found 
modified  by  imagined  circumstances  in  "  Paul  and  Virginia." 
He  returned  to  Paris  poor  in  purse,  but  rich  in  observation 
and  mental  resources,  and  resolved  to  devote  himself  to  liter- 
ature. By  the  Baron  de  Breteuil  he  was  recommended  to 
D'Alembert,  who  procured  a  publisher  for  his  "  Voyage,"  and 
also  introduced  him  to  Mile,  de  1'Espinasse.  But  no  one,  in 
spite  of  his  great  beauty,  was  so  ill  calculated  to  shine  or  please 
in  society  as  St.  Pierre.  His  manners  were  timid  and  embar- 
rassed, and,  unless  to  those  with  whom  he  was  very  intimate, 
he  scarcely  appeared  intelligent. 

It  is  sad  to  think,  that  misunderstanding  should  prevail  to 


MEMOIR  OF  BERNARDIX  DE  ST.  PIERRE.  j  t 

such  an  extent,  and  heart  so  seldom  really  speak  to  heart,  in 
the  intercourse  of  the  world,  that  the  most  humane  may  appear 
cruel,  and  the  sympathizing  indifferent.  Judging  of  Mile,  de 
1'Espinasse  from  her  letters,  and  the  testimony  of  her  contem- 
poraries, it  seems  quite  impossible  that  she  could  have  given 
pain  to  any  one,  more  particularly  to  a  man  possessing  St. 
Pierre's  extraordinary  and  profound  sensibility.  Both  she  and 
D'Alembert  were  capable  of  appreciating  him ;  but  the  society 
in  which  they  moved  laughed  at  his  timidity,  and  the  tone  of 
raillery  in  which  they  often  indulged  was  not  understood  by 
him.  It  is  certain  that  he  withdrew  from  their  circle  with 
wounded  and  mortified  feelings,  and,  in  spite  of  an  explanatory 
letter  from  D'Alembert,  did  not  return  to  it.  The  infiictors  of 
all  this  pain,  in  the  mean  time,  were  possibly  as  unconscious  of 
the  meaning  attached  to  their  words,  as  were  the  birds  of  old 
of  the  augury  drawn  from  their  flight. 

St.  Pierre,  in  his  "  Preambule  de  1'Arcadie,"  has  patheti- 
cally and  eloquently  described  the  deplorable  state  of  his  health 
and  feelings,  after  frequent  humiliating  disputes  and  disappoint- 
ments had  driven  him  from  society  ;  or  rather,  when,  like  Rous- 
seau, he  was  "  self-banished  "  from  it. 

"  I  was  struck,"  he  says,  "  with  an  extraordinary  malady. 
Streams  of  fire,  like  lightning,  flashed  before  my  eyes  ;  every 
object  appeared  to  me  double,  or  in  motion  :  like  CEdipus,  I 
saw  two  suns.  *  *  In  the  finest  day  of  summer,  I  could  not 
cross  the  Seine  in  a  boat  without  experiencing  intolerable  anx- 
iety. If,  in  a  public  garden,  I  merely  passed  by  a  piece  of 
water,  I  suffered  from  spasms  and  a  feeling  of  horror.  I  could 
not  cross  a  garden  in  which  many  people  were  collected  :  if 
they  looked  at  me,  I  immediately  imagined  they  were  speaking 
ill  of  me."  It  was  during  this  state  of  suffering  that  he  devoted 
himself  with  ardor  to  collecting  and  making  use  of  materials 
for  that  work  which  was  to  give  glory  to  his  name. 

It  was  only  by  perseverance,  and  disregarding  many  rough 
and  discouraging  receptions,  that  he  succeeded  in  making  ac- 
quaintance with  Rousseau,  whom  he  so  much  resembled.  "St. 
Pierre  devoted  himself  to  his  society  with  enthusiasm,  visiting 
him  frequently  and  constantly,  till  Rousseau  departed  for  Er- 
menonville.  It  is  not  unworthy  of  remark,  that  both  these 
men,  such  enthusiastic  admirers  of  Nature  and  the  natural  in 
all  things,  should  have  possessed  factitious  rather  than  practi- 
cal virtue,  and  a  wisdom  wholly  unfitted  for  the  world.  St. 
Pierre  asked  Rousseau,  in  one  of  their  frequent  rambles,  if  in 
delineating  St.  Preux,  he  had  not  intended  to  represent  him- 


12  MEMOIR  OF  BERNARD  IN  DE  ST.  PIERRE. 

self.  "  No,"  replied  Rousseau,  "  St.  Preux  is  not  what  I  have 
been,  but  what  I  wished  to  be."  St.  Pierre  would  most  likely 
have  given  the  same  answer,  had  a  similar  question  been  put 
to  him  with  regard  to  the  Colonel  in  "  Paul  and  Virginia." 
This  at  least,  appears  the  sort  of  old  age  he  loved  to  contem- 
plate, and  wished  to  realize. 

For  six  years,  he  worked  at  his  "  Etudes,"  and  with  some 
difficulty  found  a  publisher  for  them.  M.  Didot,  a  celebrated 
typographer,  whose  daughter  St.  Pierre  afterwards  married, 
consented  to  print  a  manuscript  which  had  been  declined  by 
many  others.  He  was  well  rewarded  for  the  undertaking. 
The  success  of  the  "  Etudes  de  la  Nature  "  surpassed  the  most 
sanguine  expectation,  even  of  the  author.  Four  years  after  its 
publication,  St.  Pierre  gave  to  the  world  "  Paul  and  Virginia," 
which  had  for  some  time  been  lying  in  his  portfolio.  He  had 
tried  its  effect,  in  manuscript,  on  persons  of  different  charac- 
ters and  pursuits.  They  had  given  it  no  applause  ;  but  all  had 
shed  tears  at  its  perusal :  and  perhaps  few  works  of  a  decidedly 
romantic  character  have  ever  been  so  generally  read,  or  so 
much  approved.  Among  the  great  names  whose  admiration  of 
it  is  on  record,  may  be  mentioned  Napoleon  and  Humboldt. 

In  1589,  he  published  "  Les  Vceux  d'un  Solitaire,"  and  "  La 
Suite  des  Vceux."  By  the  Moniteur  of  the  day,  these  works 
were  compared  to  the  celebrated  pamphlet  of  Sieyes,  — 
"  Qu'est-ce  que  le  tiers  etat  ?  "  which  then  absorbed  all  the  < 
public  favor.  In  1791,  "  La  Chaumiere  Indienne  "  was  pub- 
lished :  and  in  the  following  year,  about  thirteen  days  before 
the  celebrated  loth  of  August,  Louis  XVI.  appointed  St.  Pierre 
superintendant  of  the  "  Jardin  des  Plantes."  Soon  afterwards, 
the  King,  on  seeing  him,  complimented  him  o.n  his  writings, 
and  told  him  he  was  happy  to  have  found  a  worthy  successor 
to  Buffon. 

Although  deficient  in  the  exact  knowledge  of  the  sciences, 
and  knowing  little  of  the  world,  St.  Pierre  was,  by  his  simplicity, 
and  the  retirement  in  which  he  lived,  well  suited,  at  that  epoch, 
to  the  situation.  About  this  time,  and  when  in  his  fifty-seventh 
year,  he  married  Mile.  Didot. 

In  1795,  he  became  a  member  of  the  French  Academy,  and, 
as  was  just,  after  his  acceptance  of  this  honor,  he  wrote  no 
more  against  literary  societies.  On  the  suppression  of  his 
place,  he  retired  to  Essonne.  It  is  delightful  to  follow  him 
there,  and  to  contemplate  his  quiet  existence.  His  days  flowed 
on  peaceably,  occupied  in  the  publication  of  "  Les  Harmonies 
de  la  Nature,"  the  republication  of  his  earlier  works,  and  the 


MEMOIR  OF  BERNARDhV  DE  ST.  PIERRE.  13 

composition  of  some  lesser  pieces.  He  himself  affectingly 
regrets  an  interruption  to  these  occupations.  On  being  ap- 
pointed Instructor  to  the  Normal  School,  he  says,  "  I  am 
obliged  to  hang  my  harp  on  the  willows  of  my  river,  and  to 
accept  an  employment  useful  to  my  family  and  my  country.  1 
am  afflicted  at  having  to  suspend  an  occupation  which  has  given 
me  so  much  happiness." 

He  enjoyed  in  his  old  age  a  degree  of  opulence  which,  as 
much  as  glory,  had  perhaps  been  the  object  of  his  ambition. 
In  any  case,  it  is  gratifying  to  reflect,  that  after  a  life  so  full  of 
chance  and  change,  he  was,  in  his  latter  years,  surrounded  by 
much  that  should  accompany  old  age.  His  day  of  storms  and 
tempests  was  closed  by  an  evening  of  repose  and  beauty. 

Amid  many  other  blessings,  the  elasticity  of  his  mind  was 
preserved  to  the  last.  He  died  at  Eragny  sur  1'OIse,  on  the 
2ist  of  January,  1814.  The  stirring  events  which  then  oc- 
cupied France,  or  rather  the  whole  world,  caused  his  death  to 
be  little  noticed  at  the  time.  The  Academy  did  not,  however, 
neglect  to  give  him  the  honor  due  to  its  members.  Mons. 
Parseval  Grand  Maison  pronounced  a  deserved  eulogium  on 
his  talents,  and  Mons.  Aignan,  also,  the  customary  tribute, 
taking  his  seat  as  his  successor. 

Having  himself  contracted  the  habit  of  confiding  his  griefs 
and  sorrows  to  the  public,  the  sarfctuary  of  his  private  life  was 
open  alike  to  the  discussion  of  friends  and  enemies.  The  biog- 
rapher, who  wishes  to  be  exact,  and  yet  set  down  nought  in 
malice,  is  forced  to  the  contemplation  of  his  errors.  The 
secret  of  many  of  these,  as  well  as  of  his  miseries,  seems  re- 
vealed by  himself  in  this  sentence  :  "  I  experience  more  pain 
from  a  single  thorn,  than  pleasure  from  a  thousand  roses." 
And  elsewhere,  "  The  best  society  seems  to  me  bad,  if  I  find 
in  it  one  troublesome,  wicked,  slanderous,  envious,  or  perfidious 
person."  Now,  taking  into  consideration  that  St.  Pierre  some- 
times imagined  persons  who  were  really  good,  to  be  deserving 
of  these  strong  and  very  contumacious  epithets,  it  would  have 
been  difficult  indeed  to  find  a  society  in  which  he  could  have 
been  happy.  He  was  therefore  wise  in  seeking  retirement, 
and  indulging  in  solitude.  His  mistakes, — for  they  were  mis- 
takes,— arose  from  a  too  quick  perception  of  evil,  united  to  an 
exquisite  and  diffuse  sensibility.  When  he  felt  wounded  by  a 
thorn,  he  forgot  the  beauty  and  perfume  of  the  rose  to  which 
it  belonge;1,  and  from  which  perhaps  it  could  not  be  separated. 
And  he  was  exposed  (as  often  happens)  to  the  very  description 
of  trials  that  were  least  in  harmony  with  his  defects.  Few  dis- 


14  MEMOIR  OF  BERlfARDIN  DE  ST.  PIERRE. 

positions  could  have  run  a  career  like  his,  and  have  remained 
unscathed.  But  one  less  tender  than  his  own  would  have  been 
less  soured  by  it.  For  many  years,  he  bore  about  with  him  the 
consciousness  of  unacknowledged  talent.  The  world  cannot 
be  blamed  for  not  appreciating  that  which  had  never  been  re- 
vealed. But  we  know  not  what  the  jostling  and  elbowing  of 
that  world,  in  the  mean  time,  may  have  been  to  him — how  often 
he  may  have  felt  himself  unworthily  treated — or  how  far  that 
treatment  may  have  preyed  upon  and  corroded  his  heart.  Who 
shall  say  that  with  this  consciousness  there  did  not  mingle  a 
quick  and  instinctive  perception  of  the  hidden  motives  of  action, 
— that  he  did  not  sometimes  detect,  where  others  might  have 
been  blind,  the  under-shuffling  of  the  hands,  in  the  by-play  of 
the  world  ? 

Through  all  his  writings,  and  throughout  his  correspon- 
dence, there  are  beautiful  proofs  of  the  tenderness  of  his  feel- 
ings,— the  most  essential  quality,  perhaps,  in  any  writer.  It  is 
at  least  one  that  if  not  possessed,  can  never  be  attained.  The 
familiarity  of  his  imagination  with  natural  objects,  when  he 
was  living  far  removed  from  them,  is  remarkable,  and  often 
affecting. 

"  I  have  arranged,"  he  says  to  Mr.  Henin,  his  friend  and 
patron,  "very  interesting  materials,  but  it  is  only  with  the  light 
of  Heaven  over  me  that  I  can  recover  my  strength.  Obtain 
for  me  a  rabbits  hole,  in  which  I  may  pass  the  summer  in  the 
country."  And  again,  "  With  thejfirst  violet,  I  shall  come  to 
see  you."  It  is  soothing  to  find,  in  passages  like  these,  such 
pleasing  and  convincing  evidence  that 

"  Nature  never  did  betray, 
The  heart  that  loved  her." 

In  the  noise  of  a  great  city,  in  the  midst  of  annoyances  of 
many  kinds,  these  images,  impressed  with  quietness  and  beauty, 
came  back  to  the  mind  of  St.  Pierre,  to  cheer  and  animate 
him. 

In  alluding  to  his  miseries,  it  is  but  fair  to  quote  a  passage 
from  his  "  Voyage,"  which  reveals  his  fond  remembrance  of  his 
native  land.  "  I  should  ever  prefer  my  own  country  to  every 
other,"  he  says,  "  not  because  it  was  more  beautiful,  but  be- 
cause I  was  brought  up  in  it.  Happy  he,  who  sees  again  the 
places  where  all  was  loved,  and  all  was  lovely  ! — the  meadows 
in  which  he  played,  and  the  orchard  that  he  robbed  ! " 

He  returned  to  this  country,  so  fondly  loved  and  deeply 
cherished  in  absence,  to  experience  only  trouble  and  difficulty. 


MEMOIR  OF  BERNARD  IN  DE  ST.  PIERE.  IS 

Away  from  it,  he  had  yearned  to  behold  it, — to  fold  it,  as  it  were, 
once  more  to  his  bosom.  He  returned  to  feel  as  if  neglected 
by  it,  and  all  his  rapturous  emotions  were  changed  to  bitterness 
and  gall.  His  hopes  had  proved  delusions — his  expectations, 
mockeries.  Oh  !  who  but  must  look  with  charity  and  mercy 
on  all  discontent  and  irritation  consequent  on  such  a  depth 
of  disappointment:  on  what  must  have  then  appeared  to  him 
such  unmitigable  woe.  Under  the  influence  of  these  saddened 
feelings,  his  thoughts  flew  back  to  the  island  he  had  left,  to  place 
all  beauty,  as  well  as  all  happiness  there  ! 

One  great  proof  that  he  did  beautify  the  distant,  may  be 
found  in  the  contrast  of  some  of  the  descriptions  in  the  "  Voyage 
a  1'Ile  de  France,"  and  those  in  "  Paul  and  Virginia."  That 
spot,  which  when  peopled  by  the  cherished  creatures  of  his 
imagination,  he  described  as  an  enchanting  and  delightful  Eden, 
he  had  previously  spoken  of  as  a  "rugged  country  covered 
with  rocks," — "  a  land  of  Cyclops  blackened  by  fire."  Truth, 
probably,  lies  between  the  two  representations;  the  sadness 
of  exile  having  darkened  the  one,  and  the  exuberance  of  his 
imagination  emSellished  the  other. 

St.  Pierre's  merit  as  an  author  has  been  too  long  and  too 
universally  acknowledged,  to  make  it  needful  that  it  should  be 
dwelt  on  here.  A  careful  review  of  the  circumstances  of  his 
life  induces  the  belief,  that  his  writings  grew  (if  it  may  be  per- 
mitted so  to  speak)  out  of  his  life.  In  his  most  imaginative  pas- 
ages,  to  whatever  height  his  fancy  soared,  the  starting  point 
seems  ever  from  a  fact.  The  past  appears  to  have  been  always 
spread  out  before  him  when  he  wrote,  like  a  beautiful  land- 
scape, on  which  his  eye  rested  with  complacency,  and  from 
which  his  mind  transferred  and  idealized  some  objects,  without 
a  servile  imitation  of  any.  When  at  Berlin,  he  had  had 
it  in  his  power  to  marry  Virginia  Tabenheim  ;  and  in  Russia, 
Mile,  de  la  Tour,  the  neice  of  General  Dubosquet,  would  have 
accepted  his  hand.  He  was  too  poor  to  marry  either.  A 
grateful  recollection  caused  him  to  bestow  the  names  of  the 
two  on  his  most  beloved  creation.  Paul  was  the  name  of  a 
friar,  with  whom  he  had  associated  in  his  childhood,  and  whose 
life  he  wished  to  imitate.  How  little  had  the  owners  of  these 
names  anticipated  that  they  were  to  become  the  baptismal  ap- 
pellations of  half  a  generation  in  France,  and  to  be  re-echoed 
through  the  world  to  the  end  of  time  ! 

It  was  St.  Pierre  who  first  discovered  the  poverty  of  language 
with  regard  to  picturesque  descriptions.  In  his  earliest  work, 
the  often-quoted  "Voyage,"  he  complains  that  the  terms 


Z6  MEMOIR  OF  BERNARDtN  DE  ST.  PIERRE. 

for  describing  nature  are  not  yet  invented.  "  Endeavor,"  he 
says,  "  to  describe  a  mountain  in  such  a  manner  that  it  may 
be  recognized.  When  you  have  spoken  of  its  base,  its  sides, 
its  summit,  you  will  have  said  all !  But  what  variety  there  is 
to  be  found  in  those  swelling,  lengthened,  flattened,  or  cavern- 
ous forms  !  It  is  only  by  periphrasis  that  all  this  can  be  ex- 
pressed. The  same  difficulty  exists  for  plains  and  valleys. 
But  if  you  have  a  palace  to  describe,  there  is  no  longer  any 
difficulty.  Every  moulding  has  its  appropriate  name. 

It  was  St.  Pierre's  glory,  in  some  degree,  to  triumph  over 
this  dearth  of  expression.  Few  authors  ever  introduced  more 
new  terms  into  descriptive  writing:  yet  are  his  innovations 
ever  chastened,  and  in  good  taste.  His  style,  in  its  elegant 
simplicity,  is,  indeed,  perfection.  It  is  at  once  sonorous  and 
sweet,  and  always  in  harmony  with  the  sentiment  he  would 
express,  or  the  subject  he  would  discuss.  Chenier  might  well 
arm  himself  with  "  Paul  and  Virginia,"  and  the  "  Chaumiere 
Indienne,"  in  opposition  to  those  writers,  who,  as  he  said, 
made  prose  unnatural,  by  seeking  to  elevate  it  into  verse. 

The  "  Etudes  de  la  Nature  "  embraced  a  thousand  different 
subjects,  and  contained  some  new  ideas  on  all.  It  is  to  the 
"honor  of  human  nature,  that  after  the  uptearing  of  so  many  sacred 
opinions,  a  production  like  this,  revealing  the  chain  of  connec- 
tion through  the  works  of  Creation,  and  the  Creator  in  his 
works,  should  have  been  hailed,  as  it  was,  with  enthusiasm. 

His  motto,  from  his  favorite  poet  Virgil,  "  Taught  by  ca- 
lamity, I  pity  the  unhappy,"  won  for  him,  perhaps,  many 
readers.  And  in  its  touching  illusions,  the  unhappy  may  have 
found  suspension  from  the  realities  of  life,  as  well  as  encourage- 
ment to  support  its  trials.  For,  throughout,  it  infuses  admira- 
tion of  the  arrangements  of  Providence,  and  a  desire  for  virtue. 
More  than  one  modern  poet  may  be  supposed  to  have  drawn  a 
portion  of  his  inspiration,  from  the  "  Etudes."  As  a  work  of 
science  it  contains  many  errors.  These,  particularly  his  theory 
of  the  tides,*  St.  Pierre  maintained  to  the  last,  and  so  elo- 
quently, that  it  was  said  at  the  time,  to  be  impossible  to  unite 
less  reason  with  more  logic. 

In  "  Paul  and  Virginia,"  he  was  supremely  fortunate  in  his 
subject.  It  was  an  entirely  new  creation,  uninspired  by  any 
previous  work  ;  but  which  gave  birth  to  many  others,  having 
furnished  the  plot  to  six  theatrical  pieces.  It  was  a  subject  to 
which  the  author  could  bring  all  his  excellences  as  a  writer  and 
man,  while  his  deficiencies  and  defects  were  necessarily  ex- 

"  Occasioned,  according  to  St.  Pierre,  by  the  melting  of  the' ice  at  the  Poles. 


MEMOIR  OF  BERNARD  IN  DE  ST.  PIERRE.  jy 

eluded.  In  no  manner  could  he  incorporate  politics,  science, 
or  misapprehension  of  persons,  while  his  sensibility,  morals,  and 
wonderful  talent  for  description,  were  in  perfect  accordance 
with,  and  ornaments  to  it.  Lemontey  and  Sainte-Beuve  both 
consider  success  to  be  inseparable  from  the  happy  selection  of 
a  story  so  entirely  in  harmony  with  the  character  of  the  author ; 
and  that  the  most  successful  writers  might  envy  him  so  fortun- 
ate a  choice.  Bonaparte  was  in  the  habit  of  saying,  whenever 
he  saw  St.  Pierre,  "  M.  Bernardin,  when  do  you  mean  to  give 
us  more  Pauls  and  Virginias,  and  Indian  Cottages  ?  You  ought 
to  give  us  some  every  six  months." 

The  "  Indian  Cottage,"  if  not  quite  equal  in  interest  to 
"  Paul  and  Virginia,"  is  still  a  charming  production,  and  does 
great  honor  to  the  genius  of  its  author.  It  abounds  in  antique 
and  Eastern  gems  of  thought.  Striking  and  excellent  compari- 
sons are  scattered  through  its  pages  ;  and  it  is  delightful  to 
reflect,  that  the  following  beautiful  and  solemn  answer  of  the 
Paria  was,  with  St.  Pierre,  the  result  of  his  own  experience  : — 
"  Misfortune  resembles  the  Black  Mountain  of  Bember,  situated 
at  the  extremity  of  the  burning  kingdom  of  Lahore  ;  while  you 
are  climbing  it,  you  only  see  before  you  barren  rocks ;  but 
when  you  have  reached  its  summit,  you  see  heaven  above 
your  head,  and  at  your  feet  the  kingdom  of  Cachemere." 

When  this  passage  was  written,  the  rugged  and  sterile  rock 
had  been  climbed  by  its  gifted  author.  He  had  reached  the 
summit, — his  genius  had  been  rewarded,  and  he  himself  saw  the 
heaven  he  wished  to  point  out  to  others.  SARAH  JONES. 


***  For  the  facts  contained  in  this  brief  Memoir,  I  am  indebted  to  St.  Pierre's  own 
works,  to  the  "  Biographic  Universelle,"  to  the  "  Essai  sur  la  Vie  et  les  Ouvrages  de  Ber- 
nardin de  St.  Pierre,"  by  M  Aime  Martin,  and  to  the  very  excellent  and  interesting 
"  Notice  Historique  et  Litteraire,"  of  M.  Sainte-Beuve. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


SITUATE  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  mountain  which  rises 
above  Port  Louis,  in  the  Mauritius,  upon  a  piece  of  land  bear- 
ing the  marks  of  former  cultivation,  are  seen  the  ruins  of  two 
small  cottages.  These  ruins  are  not  far  from  the  centre  of  a 
valley,  formed  by  immense  rocks,  and  which  opens  only  to- 
wards the  north.  On  the  left  rises  the  mountain  called  the 
Height  of  Discovery,  whence  the  eye  marks  the  distant  sail 
when  it  first  touches  the  verge  of  the  horizon,  and  whence  the 
signal  is  given  when  a  vessel  approaches  the  island.  At  the 
foot  of  this  mountain  stands  the  town  of  Port  Louis.  On  the 
right  is  formed  the  road  which  stretches  from  Port  Louis  to  the 
Shaddock  Grove,  where  the  church  bearing  that  name  lifts  its 
head,  surrounded  by  its  avenues  of  bamboo,  in  the  middle  of  a 
spacious  plain  ;  and  the  prospect  terminates  in  a  forest  extend- 
ing to  the  furthest  bounds  of  the  island.  The  front  view  pre- 
sents the  bay,  denominated  the  Bay  of  the  Tomb  ;  a  little  on 
the  right  is  seen  the  Cape  of  Misfortune ;  and  beyond  rolls  the 
expanded  ocean,  on  the  surface  of  which  appear  a  few  unin- 
habited islands ;  and,  among  others,  the  Point  of  Endeavor, 
which  resembles  a  bastion  built  upon  the  flood. 

At  the  entrance  of  the  valley  which  presents  these  various 
objects,  the  echoes  of  the  mountain  incessantly  repeat  the  hol- 
low murmurs  of  the  winds  that  shake  the  neighboring  forests, 
and  the  tumultuous  dashing  of  the  waves  which  break  at  a  dis- 
tance upon  the  cliffs  ;  but  near  the  ruined  cottages  all  is  calm 
and  still,  and  the  only  objects  which  there  meet  the  eye  are 
rude  steep  rocks,  that  rise  like  a  surrounding  rampart.  Large 
clumps  of  trees  grow  at  their  base,  on  their  rifted  sides,  and 
even  on  their  majestic  tops,  where  the  clouds  seem  to  repose. 
The  showers,  which  their  bold  points  attract,  often  paint  the 
vivid  colors  of  the  rainbow  on  their  green  and  brown  declivi- 
ties, and  swell  the  sources  of  the  little  river  which  flows  at  their 


20  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

feet,  called  the  river  of  Fan-Palms.  Within  this  inclosure 
reigns  the  most  profound  silence.  The  waters,  the  air,  all  the 
elements  are  at  peace.  Scarcely  does  the  echo  repeat  the 
whispers  of  the  palm-trees,  spreading  their  broad  leaves,  the 
long  points  of  which  are  gently  agitated  by  the  winds.  A  soft 
light  illumines  the  bottom  of  this  deep  valley,  on  which  the  sun 
shines  only  at  noon.  But,  even  at  break  of  day,  the  rays  of 
light  are  thrown  on  the  surrounding  rocks;  and  their  sharp 
peaks,  rising  above  the  shadows  of  the  mountain,  appear  like 
tints  of  gold  and  purple  gleaming  upon  the  azure  sky. 

To  this  scene  I  loved  to  resort,  as  I  could  here  enjoy  at 
once  the  richness  of  an  unbounded  landscape,  and  the  charm 
of  uninterrupted  solitude.  One  day,  when  I  was  seated  at  the 
foot  of  the  cottages,  and  contemplating  their  ruins,  a  man,  ad- 
vanced in  years,  passed  near  the  spot.  He  was  dressed  in  the 
ancient  garb  of  the  island,  his  feet  were  bare,  and  he  leaned 
upon  a  staff  of  ebony :  his  hair  was  white,  and  the  expression 
of  his  countenance  was  dignified  and  interesting.  I  bowed  to 
him  with  respect ;  he  returned  the  salutation  ;  and,  after  look- 
ing at  me  with  some  earnestness,  came  and  placed  himself 
upon  the  hillock  on  which  I  was  seated.  Encouraged  by  this 
mark  of  confidence  I  thus  addressed  him  :  "  Father,  can  you 
tell  me  to  whom  those  cottages  once  belonged  ?  " — "  My  son," 
replied  the  old  man,  "  those  heaps  of  rubbish,  and  that  untilled 
land,  were,  twenty  years  ago,  the  property  of  two  families,  who 
then  found  happiness  in  this  solitude.  Their  history  is  affect- 
ing ;  but  what  European,  pursuing  his  way  to  the  Indies,  will 
pause  one  moment  to  interest  himself  in  the  fate  of  a  few 
obscure  individuals  ?  What  European  can  picture  happiness 
to  his  imagination  amidst  poverty  and  neglect  ?  The  curiosity 
of  mankind  is  only  attracted  by  the  history  of  the  great,  and 
yet  from  that  knowledge  little  use  can  be  derived." — "  Father," 
I  rejoined,  "  from  your  manner  and  your  observations,  I  per- 
ceive that  you  have  acquired  much  experience  of  human  life. 
If  you  have  leisure,  relate  to  me,  I  beseech  you,  the  histor  •  of 
the  ancient  inhabitants  of  this  desert ;  and  be  assured,  that 
even  the  men  who  are  most  perverted  by  the  prejudices  of  the 
world,  find  a  soothing  pleasure  in  contemplating  that  happiness 
which  belongs  to  simplicity  and  virtue."  The  old  man,  after  a 
short  silence,  during  which  he  leaned  his  face  upon  his  hands, 
as  if  he  were  trying  to  recall  the  images  of  the  past,  thus  began 
his  narration  : — 

Monsieur  de  la  Tour,  a  young  man  who  was  a  native  of  Nor- 
mandy, after  having  in  vain  solicited  a  commission  in  the  French 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  21 

army,  or  some  support  from  his  own  family,  at  length  deter- 
mined to  seek  his  fortune  in  this  island,  where  he  arrived  in 
1726.  He  brought  hither  a  young  woman,  whom  he  loved  ten- 
derly, and  by  whom  he  was  no  less  tenderly  beloved.  She 
belonged  to  a  rich  and  ancient  family  of  the  same  province : 
but  he  had  married  her  secretly  and  without  fortune,  and  in 
opposition  to  the  will  of  her  relations,  who  refused  their  con- 
sent because  he  was  found  guilty  of  being  descended  from 
parents  who  had  no  claims  to  nobility.  Monsieur  de  la  Tour, 
leaving  his  wife  at  Port  Louis,  embarked  for  Madagascar,  in 
order  to  purchase  a  few  slaves,  to  assist  him  in  forming  a 
plantation  on  this  island.  He  landed  at  Madagascar  during 
that  unhealthy  season  which  commences  about  the  middle  of 
October ;  and  soon  after  his  arrival  died  of  the  pestilential 
fever,  which  prevails  in  that  island  six  months  of  the  year,  and 
which  will  forever  baffle  the  attempts  of  the  European  nations 
to  form  establishments  on  that  fatal  soil.  His  effects  were 
seized  upon  by  the  rapacity  of  strangers,  as  commonly  happens 
to  persons  dying  in  foreign  parts ;  and  his  wife,  who  was  preg- 
nant, found  herself  a  widow  in  a  country  where  she  had  neither 
credit  nor  acquaintance,  and  no  earthly  possession,  or  rather 
support,  but  one  negro  woman.  Too  delicate  to  solicit  protec- 
tion or  relief  from  any  one  else  after  the  death  of  him  whom 
alone  she  loved,  misfortune  armed  her  with  courage,  and  she 
resolved  to  cultivate,  with  her  slave,  a  little  spot  of  ground, 
and  procure  for  herself  the  means  of  subsistence. 

Desert  as  was  the  island,  and  the  ground  left  to  the  choice 
of  the  settler,  she  avoided  those  spots  which  were  most  fertile 
and  most  favorable  to  commerce  :  seeking  some  nook  of  the 
mountain,  some  secret  asylum  where  she  might  live  solitary 
and  unknown,  she  bent  her  way  from  the  town  towards  these 
rocks,  where  she  might  conceal  herself  from  observation.  All 
sensitive  and  suffering  creatures,  from  a  sort  of  common  in- 
stinct, fly  for  refuge  amidst  their  pains  to  haunts  the  most  wild 
and  desolate  ;  as  if  rocks  could  form  a  rampart  against  mis- 
fortune— as  if  the  calm  of  Nature  could  hush  the  tumults  of  the 
soul.  That  Providence,  which  lends  its  support  when  we  ask 
but  the  supply  of  our  necessary  wants,  had  a  blessing  in  reserve 
for  Madame  de  la  Tour,  which  neither  riches  nor  greatness  can 
purchase  : — this  blessing  was  a  friend. 

The  spot  to  which  Madame  de  la  Tour  had  fled  had  already 
been  inhabited  for  a  year  by  a  young  woman  of  a  lively,  good- 
natured  and  affectionate  disposition.  Margaret  (for  that  was 
her  name)  -was  born  in  Brittany,  of  a  family  of  peasants,  by 

18 


22  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

whom  she  was  cherished  and  beloved,  and  with  whom  she 
might  have  passed  through  life  in  simple  rustic  happiness,  if, 
mislead  by  the  weakness  of  a  tender  heart,  she  had  not  listened 
to  the  passion  of  a  gentleman  in  the  neighborhood,  who  promised 
her  marriage.  He  soon  abandoned  her,  and  adding  inhumanity 
to  seduction,  refused  to  insure  a  provision  for  the  child  of  which 
she  was  pregnant.  Margaret  then  determined  to  leave  forever 
her  native  village,-  and  retire,  where  her  fault  might  be  con- 
cealed, to  some  colony  distant  from  that  country  where  she 
had  lost  the  only  portion  of  a  poor  peasant  girl — her  reputa- 
tion. With  some  borrowed  money  she  purchased  an  old  negro 
slave,  with  whom  she  cultivated  a  little  corner  of  this  district. 

Madame  de  la  Tour,  followed  by  her  negro  woman,  came  to 
this  spot,  where  she  found  Margaret  engaged  in  suckling  her 
child.  Soothed  and  charmed  by  the  sight  of  a  person  in  a  sit- 
uation somewhat  similar  to  her  own,  Madame  de  la  Tour  rela- 
ted, in  a  few  words,  her  past  condition  and  her  present  wants. 
Margaret  was  deeply  affected  by  the  recital ;  and  more  anxious 
to  merit  confidence  than  to  create  esteem,  she  confessed  with- 
out disguise,  the  errors  of  which  she  had  been  guilty.  "As  for 
me,"  said  she,  "  I  deserve  my  fate  :  but  you,  madam — you ! 
at  once  virtuous  and  unhappy" — and,  sobbing,  she  offered 
Madame  de  la  Tour  both  her  hut  and  her  friendship.  That 
lady,  affected  by  this  tender  reception,  pressed  her  in  her  arms, 
and  exclaimed, — "  Ah,  surely  Heaven  has  put  an  end  to  my 
misfortunes,  since  it  inspires  you,  to  whom  I  am  a  stranger, 
with  more  goodness  towards  me  than  I  have  ever  experienced 
from  my  own  relations !  " 

I  was  acquainted  with  Margaret :  and,  although  my  habita- 
tion is  a  league  and  a  half  from  hence,  in  the  woods  behind  that 
sloping  mountain,  I  considered  myself  as  her  neighbor,^  In  the 
cities  of  Europe,  a  street,  even  a  simple  wall,  frequently  pre- 
vents members  of  the  same  family  from  meeting  for  years ;  but 
in  new  colonies  we  consider  those  persons  as  neighbors  from 
whom  we  are  divided  only  by  woods  and  mountains  ;  and  above 
all  at  that  period,  when  this  island  had  little  intercourse  with 
the  Indies,  vicinity  alone  gave  a  claim  to  friendship,  and  hospi- 
tality towards  strangers  seemed  less  a  duty  than  a  pleasure. 
No  sooner  was  I  informed  that  Margaret  had  found  a  compan- 
ion, than  I  hastened  to  her,  in  the  hope  of  being  useful  to  my 
neighbor  and  her  guest.  I  found  Madame  de  la  Tour  possessed 
of  all  those  melancholy  graces  which,  by  biending  sympathy 
with  admiration  gave  to  beauty  additional  power.  Her  coun- 
tenance was  interesting,  expressive  at  once  of  dignity  and  de- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


23 


jection.  She  appeared  to  be  in  the  last  stage  of  her  pregnancy. 
I  told  the  two  friends  that  for  the  future  interest  of  their  children, 
and  to  prevent  the  intrusion  of  any  other  settler,  they  had  better 
divide  between  them  the  property  of  this  wild,  sequestered  val- 
ley, which  is  nearly  twenty  acres  in  extent.  They  confided  that 
task  to  me,  and  I  marked  out  two  equal  portions  of  land.  One 
included  the  higher  part  of  this  inclosure,  from  the  cloudy  pin- 
nacle of  that  rock,  whence  springs  the  river  of  Fan-Palms,  to 
that  precipitous  cleft  which  you  see  on  the  summit  of  the  moun- 
tain, and  which,  from  its  resemblance  in  form  to  the  battlement 
of  a  fortress,  is  called  the  Embrasure.  It  is  difficult  to  find  a 
path  along  this  wild  portion  of  the  enclosure,  the  soil  of  which 
is  encumbered  with  fragments  of  rock,  or  worn  into  channels 
formed  by  torrents  ;  yet  it  produces  noble  trees,  and  innumer- 
able springs  and  rivulets.  The  other  portion  of  land  comprised 
the  plain  extending  along  the  banks  of  the  river  of  Fan-Palms, 
to  the  opening  where  we  are  now  seated,  whence  the  river 
takes  its  course  between  those  two  hills,  until  it  falls  into  the 
sea.  You  may  still  trace  the  vestiges  of  some  meadow  land  ; 
and  this  part  of  the  common  is  less  rugged,  but  not  more  valu- 
able than  the  other ;  since  in  the  rainy  season  it  becomes 
matshy,  and  in  dry  weather  is  so  hard  and  unyielding,  that  it 
will  almost  resist  the  stroke  of  a  pickaxe.  When  I  had  thus 
divided  the  property,  I  persuaded  my  neighbors  to  draw  lots 
for  their  respective  possessions.  The  higher  portion  of  land, 
containing  the  source  of  the  river  of  Fan-Palms,  became  the 
property  of  Madame  de  la  Tour ;  the  lower,  comprising  the 
plain  on  the  banks  of  the  river,  was  allotted  to  Margaret ;  and 
each  seemed  satisfied  with  her  share.  They  entreated  me  to 
place  their  habitations  together,  that  they  might  at  all  times  en- 
joy the  soothing  intercourse  of  friendship,  and  the  consolation 
of  mutual  kind  offices.  Margaret's  cottage  was  situated  near 
the  centre  of  the  valley,  and  just  on  the  boundary  of  her  own 
plantation.  Close  to  that  spot  I  built  another  cottage  for  the 
residence  of  Madame  de  la  Tour ;  and  thus  the  two  friends, 
while  they  possessed  all  the  advantages  of  neighborhood,  lived 
on  their  own  property.  I  myself  cut  palisades  from  the  moun- 
tain, and  brought  leaves  of  fan-palms  from  the  sea-shore  in  or- 
der to  construct  those  two  cottages,  of  which  you  can  now 
discern  neither  the  entrance  nor  the  roof.  Yet,  alas !  there 
still  remain  but  too  many  traces  for  my  remembrance  !  Time, 
which  so  rapidly  destroys  the  proud  monuments  of  empires, 
seems  in  this  desert  to  spare  those  of  friendship,  as  if  to  perpet- 
l.iate  my  regrets  to  the  last  hour  of  my  existence. 


24  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

As  soon  as  the  second  cottage  was  finished,  Madame  de 
la  Tour  was  delivered  of  a  girl.  I  had  been  the  godfather  of 
Margaret's  child,  who  was  christened  by  the  name  of  Paul. 
Madame  de  la  Tour  desired  me  to  perform  the  same  office  for 
her  child  also,  together  with  her  friend,  who  gave  her  the  name 
of  Virginia.  "  She  will  be  virtuous,"  cried  Margaret,  "  and 
she  will  be  happy.  I  have  only  known  misfortune  by  wandering 
from  virtue." 

About  the  time  Madame  de  la  Tour  recovered,  these  two 
little  estates  had  already  begun  to  yield  some  produce,  perhaps 
in  a  small  degree  owing  to  the  care  which  I  occasionally  bestowed 
on  their  improvement,  but  far  more  to  the  indefatigable  labors 
of  the  two  slaves.  Margaret's  slave,  who  was  called  Domingo, 
was  still  healthy  and  robust,  though  advanced  in  years  :  he 
possessed  some  knowledge,  and  a  good  natural  understanding. 
He  cultivated  indiscriminately,  on  both  plantations,  the  spots 
of  ground  that  seemed  most  fertile,  and  sowed  whatever  grain 
he  thought  most  congenial  to  each  particular  soil.  Where  the 
ground  was  poor,  he  strewed  maize  ;  where  it  was  most  fruitful, 
he  planted  wheat ;  and  rice  in  such  spots  as  were  marshy.  He 
threw  the  seeds  of  gourds  and  cucumbers  at  the  foot  of  the 
rocks,  which  they  loved  to  climb  and  decorate  with  their  luxuri- 
ant foliage.  In  dry  spots  he  cultivated  the  sweet  potato  j'the 
cotton-tree  flourished  upon  the  heights,  and  the  sugar-cane  grew 
in  the  clayey  soil.  He  reared  some  plants  of  coffee  on  the 
hills,  where  the  grain,  although  small,  is  excellent.  His  plan- 
tain-trees, which  spread  their  grateful  shade  on  the  banks  of 
the  river,  and  encircled  the  cottages,  yielded  fruit  throughout  the 
year.  And  lastly,  Domingo,  to  soothe  his  cares,  cultivated  a 
few  plants  of  tobacco.  Sometimes  he  was  employed  in  cutting 
wood  for  firing  from  the  mountain,  sometimes  in  hewing  pieces 
of  rock  within  the  enclosure,  in  order  to  level  the  paths.  The 
zeal  which  inspired  him  enabled  him  to  perform  all  these  labors 
with  intelligence  and  activity.  He  was  much  attached  to  Mar- 
garet, and  not  less  to  Madame  de  la  Tour,  whose  negro  woman, 
Mary,  he  had  married  on  the  birth  of  Virginia  ;  and  he  was 
passionately  fond  of  his  wife.  Mary  was  born  at  Madagascar, 
and  had  there  acquired  the  knowledge  of  some  useful  arts. 
She  could  weave  baskets,  and  a  sort  of  stuff,  with  long  grass 
that  grows  in  the  woods.  She  was  active,  cleanly,  and,  above 
all,  faithful.  It  was  her  care  to  prepare  their  meals,  to  rear  the 
poultry,  and  go  sometimes  to  Port  Louis,  to  sell  the  superfluous 
produce  of  these  little  plantations,  which  was  not,  however, 
Very  considerable.  If  you  add  to  the  personages  already  men- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  25 

tloned  two  goats,  which  were  brought  up  with  the  children,  and  a 
great  dog,  which  kept  watch  at  night,  you  will  have  a  complete 
idea  of  the  household,  as  well  as  of  the  productions  of  these  two 
little  farms. 

Madame  de  la  Tour  and  her  friend  were  constantly  em- 
ployed in  spinning  cotton  for  the  use  of  their  families.  Desti- 
tute of  everything  which  their  own  industry  could  not  supply, 
at  home  they  went  barefooted  :  shoes  were  a  convenience  re- 
served for  Sunday,  on  which  day,  at  an  early  hour,  they  attended 
mass  at  the  church  of  the  Shaddock  Grove,  which  you  see 
yonder.  That  church  was  more  distant  from  their  homes  than 
Port  Louis ;  but  they  seldom  visited  the  town,  lest  they  should 
be  treated  with  contempt  on  account  of  their  dress,  which  con- 
sisted simply  of  the  coarse  blue  linen  of  Bengal,  usually  worn  by 
slaves.  But  is  there,  in  that  external  deference  which  fortune 
commands,  a  compensation  for  domestic  happiness  ?  If  these 
interesting  women  had  something  to  suffer  from  the  world, 
their  homes  on  that  very  account  became  more  dear  to  them. 
No  sooner  did  Mary  and  Domingo,  from  this  elevated  spot, 
perceive  their  mistresses  on  the  road  of  the  Shaddock  Grove, 
than  they  flew  to  the  foot  of  the  mountain  in  order  to  help  them 
to  ascend.  They  discerned  in  the  looks  of  their  domestics  the 
joy  which  their  return  excited.  They  found  in  their  retreat 
neatness,  independence,  all  the  blessings  which  are  the  recom- 
pense of  toil,  and  they  received  the  zealous  services  which 
spring  from  affection.  United  by  the  tie  of  similar  wants,  and 
the  sympathy  of  similar  misfortunes,  they  gave  each  other  the 
tender  names  of  companion,  friend,  sister.  They  had  but  one 
will,  one  interest,  one  table.  All  their  possessions  were  in  com- 
mon. And  if  sometimes  a  passion  more  ardent  than  friendship 
awakened  in  their  hearts  the  pang  of  unavailing  anguish,  a  pure 
religion,  united  with  chaste  manners,  drew  their  affections 
towards  another  life :  as  the  trembling  flame  rises  towards 
heaven,  when  it  no  longer  finds  any  aliment  on  earth. 

The  duties  of  maternity  became  a  source  of  additional  hap- 
piness to  these  affectionate  mothers,  whose  mutual  friendship 
gained  new  strength  at  the  sight  of  their  children,  equally  the  off- 
spring of  an  ill-fated  attachment.  They  delighted  in  washing 
their  infants  together  in  the  same  bath,  in  putting  them  to  rest 
in  the  same  cradle,  and  in  changing  the  maternal  bosom  at 
which  they  received  nourishment.  "  My  friend,"  cried  Madame 
de  la  Tour,  "  we  shall  each  of  us  have  two  children,  and  each 
of  our  children  will  have  two  mothers."  As  two  buds  which 
remain  on  different  trees  of  the  same  kind,  after  the  tempest 


z6  PAUL  AMD  VIRGINIA. 

has  broken  all  their  branches,  produce  more  delicious  fruit,  if 
each,  separated  from  the  maternal  stem,  be  grafted  on  the  neigh- 
boring tree,  so  these  two  infants,  deprived  of  all  their  other  re- 
lations, when  thus  exchanged  for  nourishment  by  those  who  had 
given  them  birth,  imbibed  feelings  of  affection  still  more  tender 
than  those  of  son  and  daughter,  brother  and  sister.  While 
they  were  yet  in  their  cradles,  their  mothers  talked  of  their 
marriage.  They  soothed  their  own  cares  by  looking  forward 
to  the  future  happiness  of  their  children  ;  but  this  contempla- 
tion often  drew  forth  their  tears.  The  misfortunes  of  one 
mother  had  arisen  from  having  neglected  marriage  ;  those  of 
the  other  for  having  submitted  to  its  laws.  One  had  suffered 
by  aiming  to  rise  above  her  condition,  the  other  by  descending 
from  her  rank.  But  they  found  consolation  in  reflecting  that 
their  more  fortunate  children,  far  from  the  cruel  prejudices  of 
Europe,  would  enjoy  at  once  the  pleasures  of  love  and  the  bless- 
ings of  equality. 

Rarely,  indeed,  has  such  an  attachment  been  seen  as  that 
which  the  two  children  already  testified  for  each  other.  If  Paul 
complained  of  anything,  his  mother  pointed  to  Virginia :  at  her 
sight  he  smiled,  and  was  appeased.  If  any  accident  befell 
Virginia,  the  cries  of  Paul  gave  notice  of  the  disaster  ;  but  the 
dear  little  creature  would  suppress  her  complaints  if  she  found 
that  he  was  unhappy.  When  I  came  hither,  I  usually  found 
them  quite  naked,  as  is  the  custom  of  the  country,  tottering  in 
their  walk,  and  holding  each  other  by  the  hands  and  under  the 
arms,  as  we  see  represented  the  constellation  of  the  Twins. 
At  night  these  infants  often  refused  to  be  separated,  and  were 
found  lying  in  the  same  cradle,  their  cheeks,  their  bosoms 
pressed  close  together,  their  hands  thrown  round  each  other's 
neck,  and  sleeping,  locked  in  one  another's  arms. 

When  they  began  to  speak,  the  first  name  they  learned  to 
give  each  other  were  those  of  brother  and  sister,  and  childhood 
knows  no  softer  appellation.  Their  education,  by  directing 
them  ever  to  consider  each  other's  wants,  tended  greatly  to  in- 
crease their  affection.  In  a  short  time,  all  the  household 
economy,  the  care  of  preparing  their  rural  repasts,  became  the 
task  of  Virginia,  whose  labors  were  always  crowned  with  the 
praises  and  kisses  of  her  brother.  As  for  Paul,  always  in  mo- 
tion, he  dug  the  garden  with  Domingo,  or  followed  him  with  a 
little  hatchet  into  the  woods  ;  and  if  in  his  rambles  he  espied 
a  beautiful  flower,  any  delicious  fruit,  or  a  nest  of  birds,  even 
at  the  top  of  the  tree,  he  would  climb  up  and  bring  the  spoil  to 
his  sister.  When  you  met  one  of  these  children,  you  might  be 
sure  the  other  was  not  far  off. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  2<j 

One.  day  as  I  was  coming  down  that  mountain,  I  saw  Vir- 
ginia at  the  end  of  the  garden  running  towards  the  house  with 
her  petticoat  thrown  over  her  head,  in  order  to  screen  herself 
from  a  shower  of  rain.  At  a  distance,  I  thought  she  was  alone  ; 
but  as  I  hastened  towards  her  in  order  to  help  her  on,  I  per- 
ceived she  held  Paul  by  the  arm,  almost  entirely  enveloped  in 
the  same  canopy,  and  both  were  laughing  heartily  at  their  be- 
ing sheltered  together  under  an  umbrella  of  their  own  invention. 
Those  two  charming  faces  in  the  middle  of  a  swelling  petticoat; 
recalled  to  my  mind  the  children  of  Leda,  enclosed  in.  the  same 
shell. 

Their  sole  study  was  how  they  could  please  and  assist  one 
another  ;  for  of  all  other  things  they  were  ignorant,  and  indeed 
could  neither  read  nor  write.  They  were  never  disturbed  by  in- 
quiries about  past  times,  nor  did  their  curiosity  extend  beyond 
the  bounds  of  their  mountain.  They  believed  the  world  ended 
at  the  shores  of  their  own  island,  and  all  their  ideas  and  all 
their  affections  were  confined  within  its  limits.  Their  mutual 
tenderness,  and  that  of  their  mothers,  employed  all  the  ener- 
gies of  their  minds.  Their  tears  had  never  been  called  forth 
by  tedious  application  to  useless  sciences.  Their  minds  had 
never  been  wearied  by  lessons  of  morality,  superfluous  to  bosoms 
unconscious  of  ill.  They  had  never  been  taught  not  to  steal, 
because  everything  with  them  was  in  common  :  or  not  to  be 
intemperate,  because  their  simple  food  was  left  to  their  own 
discretion  ;  or  not  to  lie,  because  they  had  nothing  to  conceal. 
Their  young  imaginations  had  never  been  terrified  by  the  idea 
that  God  has  punishment  in  store  for  ungrateful  children,  since 
with  them,  filial  affection  arose  naturally  from  maternal  tender- 
ness. All  they  had  been  taught  of  religion  was  to  love  it,  and 
if  they  did  not  offer  up  long  prayers  in  the  church,  wherever 
they  were,  in  the  house,  in  the  fields,  in  the  woods,  they  raised 
towards  heaven  their  innocent  hands,  and  hearts  purified  by 
virtuous  affections. 

All  their  early  childhood  passed  thus,  like  a  beautiful  dawn, 
the  prelude  of  a  bright  day.  Already  they  assisted  their 
mothers  in  the  duties  of  the  household.  As  soon  as  the  crow- 
ing of  the  wakeful  cock  announced  the  first  beam  of  the  morn- 
ing, Virginia  arose,  and  hastened  to  draw  water  from  a  neigh- 
boring spring :  then  returning  to  the  house  she  prepared  the 
breakfast.  When  the  rising  sun  gilded  the  points  of  the  rocks 
which  overhang  the  enclosure  in  which  they  lived,  Margaret 
and  her  child  repaired  to  the  dwelling  of  Madame  de  la  Tour, 
where  they  offered  .up  their  morning  prayer  together.  This 


28  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

sacrifice  of  thanksgiving  always  preceded  their  first  repast, 
which  they  often  took  before  the  door  of  fhe  cottage,  seated 
upon  the  grass,  under  a  canopy  of  plantain :  and  while  the 
branches  of  that  delicious  tree  afforded  a  grateful  shade,  its 
fruit  furnished  a  substantial  food  ready  prepared  for  them  by 
nature,  and  its  long  glossy  leaves,  spread  upon  the  table,  sup- 
plied the  place  of  linen.  Plentiful  and  wholesome  nourishment 
gave  early  growth  and  vigpr  to  the  persons  of  these  children, 
and  their  countenances  expressed  the  purity  and  peace  of  their 
souls.  At  twelve  years  of  age  the  figure  of  Virginia  was  in  some 
degree  formed  •  a  profusion  of  light  hair  shaded  her  face,  to 
which  her  blue  eyes  and  coral  lips  gave  the  most  charming  bril- 
liancy. Her  eyes  sparkled  with  vivacity  when  she  spoke;  but 
when  she  was  silent  they  were  habitually  turned  upwards  with  an 
expression  of  extreme  sensibility,  or  rather  of  tender  melancholy. 
The  figure  of  Paul  began  already  to  display  the  graces  of  youth- 
ful beauty.  He  was  taller  than  Virginia  :  his  skin  was  a  darker 
tint ;  his  nose  more  aquiline  ;  and  his  black  eyes  would  have 
been  too  piercing,  if  the  long  eyelashes  by  which  they  were 
shaded,  had  not  imparted  to  them  an  expression  of  softness. 
He  was  constantly  in  motion,  except  when  his  sister  appeared, 
and  then,  seated  by  her  side,  he  became  still.  Their  meals 
often  passed  without  a  word  being  spoken  ;  and  from  their 
silence,  the  simple  elegance  of  their  attitudes,  and  the  beauty 
of  their  naked  feet,  you  might  have  fancied  you  beheld  an  an- 
tique group  of  white  marble,  representing  some  of  the  children 
of  Niobe,  but  for  the  glances  of  their  eyes,  which  were  con- 
stantly seeking  to  meet,  and  their  mutual  soft  and  tender  smiles, 
which  suggested  rather  the  idea  of  happy  celestial  spirits,  whose 
nature  is  love,  and  who  are  not  obliged  to  have  recourse  to 
words  for  the  expression  of  their  feelings. 

In  the  mean  time  Madame  de  la  Tour,  perceiving  every  day 
some  unfolding  grace,  some  new  beauty,  in  her  daughter,  felt 
her  maternal  anxiety  increase  with  her  tenderness.  She  often 
said  to  me,  "  If  I  were  to  die,  what  will  become  of  Virginia 
without  fortune  ? " 

Madame  de  la  Tour  had  an  aunt  in  France,  who  was  a  woman 
of  quality,,  rich,  old,  and  a  complete  devotee.  She  had  be- 
haved with  so  much  cruelty  towards  her  niece  upon  her  marriage, 
that  Madame  de  la  Tour  had  determined  no  extremity  of  dis- 
tress should  ever  compel  her  to  have  recourse  to  her  hard- 
hearted relation.  But  when  she  became  a  mother,  the  pride  of 
resentment  was  overcome  by  the  stronger  feelings  of  maternal 
tenderness.  She  wrote  to  her  aunt,  informing  her  of  the  sudden 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINTA.  2g 

death  of  her  husband,  and  the  birth  of  her  daughter,  and  the 
difficulties  in  which  she  was  involved,  burdened  as  she  was  with 
an  infant,  and  without  means  of  support.  She  received  no 
answer  ;  but  notwithstanding  the  high  spirit  natural  to  her  char- 
acter, she  no  longer  feared  exposing  herself  to  mortification  ; 
and,  although  she  knew  her  aunt  would  never  pardon  her  for 
having  married  a  man  who  was  not  of  noble  birth,  however 
estimable,  she  continued  to  write  to  her,  with  the  hope  of 
awakening  her  compassion  for  Virginia.  Many  years,  however, 
passed  without  receiving  any  token  of  her  remembrance. 

At  length,,  in  1738,  three  years  after  the  arrival  of  Monsieur 
de  la  Bourdonnais  in  this  island,  Madame  de  la  Tour  was  in- 
formed that  the  Governor  had  a  letter  to  give  her  from  hef 
aunt.  She  flew  to  Port  Louis  ;  maternal  joy  raised  her  mind 
above  all  trifling  considerations,  and  she  was  careless  on  this 
occasion  of  appearing  in  her  homely  attire.  Monsieur  de  la 
Bourdonnais  gave  her  a  letter  from  her  aunt,  in  which  she  in- 
formed her,  that  she  deserved  her  fate  for  marrying  an  adven- 
turer and  a  libertine  :  that  the  passions  brought  with  them  their 
own  punishment;  that  the  premature  death  of  her  husband  was 
a  just  visitation  from  Heaven  ;  that  she  had  done  well  in  going 
to  a  distant  island,  rather  than  dishonor  her  family  by  remain- 
ing in  France  ;  and  that,  after  all,  in  the  colony  where  she  had 
taken  refuge,  none  but  the  idle  failed  to  grow  rich.  Having 
thus  censured  her  niece,  she  concluded  by  eulogizing  herself. 
To  avoid,  she  said,  the  almost  inevitable  evils  of  marriage,  she 
had  determined  to  remain  single.  In  fact,  as  she  was  of  a  very 
ambitious  disposition,  she  had  resolved  to  marry  none  but  a ' 
man  of  high  rank  ;  but  although  she  was  very  rich,  her  fortune 
was  not  found  a  sufficient  bribe,  even  at  court,  to  counterbalance 
the  malignant  dispositions  of  her  mind,  and  the  disagreeable 
qualities  of  her  person. 

After  mature  deliberations,  she  added,  in  a  postscript,  that 
she  had  strongly  recommended  her  niece  to  Monsieur  de  la 
Bourdonnais.  -  This  she  had  indeed  done,  but  in,  a  manner  of 
late  too  common,  which  renders  a  patron  perhaps  even  more  to 
be  feared  than  a  declared  enemy  ;  for,  in  order  to  justify  herself 
for  her  harshness,  she  had  cruelly  slandered  her  niece,  while 
she  affected  to  pity  her  misfortunes. 

Madame  de  la  Tour,  whom  no  unprejudiced  person  could 
have  seen  without  feelings  of  sympathy  and  respect,  was  re- 
ceived with  the  utmost  coolness  by  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais, 
biased  as  he  was  against  her.  When  she  painted  to  him  her 
own  situation  and  that  of  her  child,  he  replied  in  abrupt  sen- 


30  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

tences, — "We  will  see  what  can  be  done — there  are  so  many  to 
relieve — all  in  good  time — why  did  you  displease  your  aunt  ? — 
you  have  been  much  to  blame." 

Madame  de  la  Tour  returned  to  her  cottage,  her  heart  torn 
with  grief,  and  filled  with  all  the  bitterness  of  disappointment. 
When  she  arrived  she  threw  her  aunt's  letter  on  the  table,  and 
exclaimed  to  her  friend,  "  There  is  the  fruit  of  eleven  years  of 
patient  expectation  ! "  Madame  de  la  Tour  being  the  only 
person  in  the  little  circle  who  could  read,  she  again  took  up 
the  letter,  and  read  it  aloud.  Scarcely  had  she  finished,  when 
Margaret  exclaimed,  "  What  have  we  to  do  with  >T9ur  relations  ? 
Has  God  then  forsaken  us  ?  He  only  is  our  father  !  Have 
we  not  hitherto  been  happy  ?  Why  then  this  regret  ?  You 
have  no  courage."  Seeing  Madame  de  la  Tour  in  tears,  she 
threw  herself  upon  her  neck,  and  pressing  her  in  her  arms, — 
"  My  dear  friend  !  "  cried  she,  "  my  dear  friend  !  " — but  her 
emotion  choked  her  utterance.  At  this  sight  Virginia  burst 
into  tears,  and  pressed  her  mother's  and  Margaret's  hand  alter- 
nately to  her  lips  and  heart ;  while  Paul,  his  eyes  inflamed  with 
anger,  cried,  clasping  his  hands  together,  and  stamping  with 
his  foot,  not  knowing  whom  to  blame  for  this  scene  of  misery. 
The  noise  soon  brought  Domingo  and  Mary  to  the  spot,  and 
the  little  habitation  resounded  with  cries  of  distress, — "  Ah, 
madam  ! — My  good  mistress  !  —  My  dear  mother  !  —  Do  not 
weep !  "  These  tender  proofs  of  affection  at  length  dispelled 
the  grief  of  Madame  de  la  Tour.  She  took  Paul  and  Virginia 
in  her  arms,  and,  embracing  them,  said,  "  You  are  the  cause  of 
my  affliction,  my  children,  but  you  are  also  my  only  source  of 
delight !  Yes,  my  dear  children,  misfortune  has  reached  me, 
but  only  from  a  distance  :  here  I  am  surrounded  with  happi- 
ness." Paul  and  Virginia  did  not  understand  this  reflection  ; 
but  when  they  saw  that  she  was  calm,  they  smiled,  and  continued 
to  caress  her.  Tranquillity  was  thus  restored  in  this  happy 
family,  and  all  that  had  passed  was  but  as  a  storm  in  the  midst 
of  fine  weather,  which  disturbs  the  serenity  of  the  atmosphere 
but  for  a  short  time,  and  then  passes  away. 

The  amiable  disposition  of  these  children  unfokied  itself 
daily.  One  Sunday,  at  daybreak,  their  mothers  having  gone 
to  mass  at  the  church  of  the  Shaddock  Grove,  the  children  per- 
ceived a  negro  woman  beneath  the  plantains  which  surrounded 
their  habitation.  She  appeared  almost  wasted  to  a  skeleton, 
and  had  no  other  garment  than  a  piece  of  coarse  cloth  thrown 
around  her.  She  threw  herself  at  the  feet  of  Virginia,  who  was 
preparing  the  family  breakfast,  and  said,  "  My  good  young  lady, 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  31 

have  pity  on  a  poor  runaway  slave.  For  a  whole  month  I  have 
wandered  among  these  mountains,  half  dead  with  hunger,  and 
often  pursued  by  the  hunters  and  their  dogs.  I  fled  from  my 
master,  a  rich  planter  of  the  Black  River,  who  has  used  me  as 
you  see ;  "  and  she  showed  her  body  marked  with  scars  from 
the  lashes  she  had  received.  She  added,  "  I  was  going  to 
drown  myself,  but  hearing  you  lived  here,  I  said  to  myself, 
Since  there  are  still  some  good  white  people  in  this  country,  I 
need  not  die  yet."  Virginia  answered  with  emotion, — "  Take 
courage,  unfortunate  creature  !  here  is  something  to  eat ;  "  and 
she  gave  her  the  breakfast  she  had  been  preparing,  which  the 
slave  in  a  few  minutes  devoured.  When  her  hunger  was  ap- 
peased, Virginia  said  to  her, — "  Poor  woman  !  I  should  like 
to  go  and  ask  forgiveness  for  you  of  your  master.  Surely  the 
sight  of  you  will  touch  him  with  pity.  Will  you  show  me  the 
way  ?  " — "  Angel  of  heaven  !  "  answered  the  poor  negro  woman, 
"  I  will  follow  you  where  you  please  !  "  Virginia  called  her 
brother,  and  begged  him  to  accompany  her.  The  slave  led  the 
way,  by  winding  and  difficult  paths,  through  the  woods,  over 
mountains,  which  they  climbed  with  difficulty,  and  across  rivers, 
through  which  they  were  obliged  to  wade.  At  length,  about 
the  middle  of  the  day,  they  reached  the  foot  of  a  steep  descent 
upon  the  borders  of  the  Black  River.  There  they  perceived  a 
well-built  house,  surrounded  by  extensive  plantations,  and  a 
number  of  slaves  employed  in  their  various  labors.  Their 
master  was  walking  among  them  with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and 
a  switch  in  his  hand.  He  was  a  tall  thin  man,  of  a  brown  com- 
plexion ;  his  eyes  were  sunk-  in  his  head,  and  his  dark  eyebrows 
were  joined  in  one.  Virginia,  holding  Paul  by  the  hand,  drew 
near,  and  with  much  emotion  begged  him,  for  the  love  of  God, 
to  pardon  his  poor  slave,  who  stood  trembling  a  few  paces  be- 
hind. The  planter  at  first  paid  little  attention  to  the  children, 
who,  he  saw,  were  meanly  dressed.  But  when  he  observed  the 
elegance  of  Virginia's  form,  and  the  profusion  of  her  beautiful 
light  tresses  which  had  escaped  from  beneath  her  blue  cap  ; 
when  he  heard  the  soft  tone  of  her  voice,  which  trembled,  as 
well  as  her  whole  frame,  while  she  implored  his  compassion ; 
he  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and  lifting  up  his  stick,  swore, 
with  a  terrible  oath,  that  he  pardoned  his  slave,  not  for  the 
love  of  Heaven,  but  of  her  who  asked  his  forgiveness.  Vir- 
ginia made  a  sign  to  the  slave  to  approach  her  master ;  and 
instantly  sprang  away  followed  by  Paul. 

They  climbed  up  the  steep  they  had  descended  ;  and  naving 
gained  the  summit,  seated  themselves  at  the  foot  of  a  tree, 


g2  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

overcome  with  fatigue,  hunger  and  thirst.  They  had  left  their 
home  fasting,  and  walked  five  leagues  since  sunrise.  Paul  said 
to  Virginia, — "  My  dear  sister,  it  is  past  noon,  and  I  am  sure 
you  are  thirsty  and  hungry  :  we  shall  find  no  dinner  here  ;  let 
us  go  down  the  mountain  again,  and  ask  the  master  of  the  poor 
slave  for  some  food."  — "  Oh,  no,"  answered  Virginia,  "  he 
frightens  me  too  much.  Remember  what  mamma  sometimes 
says,  'The  bread  of  the  wicked  is  like  stones  in  the  mouth.'" 
— "What  shall  we  do  then,"  said  Paul ;  "  these  trees  produce 
no  fruit  fit  to  eat ;  and  I  shall  not  be  able  to  find  even  a  tama- 
rind or  a  lemon  to  refresh  you." — "  God  will  take  care  of  us," 
replied  Virginia  ;  "  he  listens  to  the  cry  even  of  the  little  birds 
when  they  ask  him  for  food."  Scarcely  had  she  pronounced 
these  words  when  they  heard  the  noise  of  water  falling  from  a 
neighboring  rock.  They  ran  thither,  and  having  quenched  their 
thirst  at  this  crystal  spring,  they  gathered  and  ate  a  few  cresses 
which  grew  on  the  border  of  the  stream.  Soon  afterwards, 
while  they  were  wandering  backwards  and  forwards  in  search 
of  more  solid  nourishment,  Virginia  perceived  in  the  thickest 
part  of  the  forest,  a  young  palm-tree.  The  kind  of  cabbage 
which  is  found  at  the  top  of  the  palm,  enfolded  within  its  leaves, 
is  well  adapted  for  food  ;  but,  although  the  stock  of  the  tree  is 
not  thicker  than  a  man's  leg,  it  grows  to  above  sixty  feet  in 
height.  The  wood  of  the  tree,  indeed,  is  composed  only  of 
very  fine  filaments ;  but  the  bark  is  so  hard  that  it  turns  the 
edge  of  the  hatchet,  and  Paul  was  not  furnished  even  with 
a  knife.  At  length  he  thought  of  setting  fire  to  the  palm-tree  ; 
but  a  new  difficulty  occurred  :  he  had  no  steel  with  which  to 
strike  fire  ;  and  although  the  whole  island  is  covered  with  rocks, 
I  do  not  believe  it  is  possible  to  find  a  single  flint.  Necessity, 
however,  is  fertile  in  expedients,  and  the  most  useful  inven- 
tions have  arisen  from  mer  placed  in  the  most  destitute  situa- 
tions. Paul  determined  to  kindle  a  fire  after  the  manner  of  the 
negroes.  .With  the  sharp  end  of  a  stone  he  made  a  small  hole 
in  the  branch  of  a  tree  that  was  quite  dry,  and  which  he  held 
between  his  feet :  he  then,  with  the  edge  of  the  same  stone, 
brought  to  a  point  another  dry  branch  of  a  different  sort  of 
wood,  and,  afterwards,  placing  the  piece  of  pointed  wood  in 
the  small  hole  of  the  branch  which  he  held  with  his  feet  and 
turning  it  rapidly  between  his  hands,  in  a  few  minutes  smoke 
and  sparks  of  fire  issued  from  the  point  of  contact.  Paul  then 
heaped  together  dried  grass  and  branches,  and  set  fire  to  the 
foot  of  the  palm-tree,  which  soon  fell  to  the  ground  with  a  tre- 
mendous crash.  The  fire  was  further  useful  to  him  in  strip- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA 


33 


ping  off  the  long,  thick,  and  pointed  leaves,  within  which  the 
cabbage  was  inclosed.  Having  thus  succeeded  in  obtaining 
this  fruit,  they  ate  part  of  it  raw,  and  part  dressed  upon  the 
ashes,  which  they  found  equally  palatable.  They  made  this 
frugal  repast  with  delight,  from  the  remembrance  of  the  be- 
nevolent action  they  had  performed  in  the  morning :  yet  their 
joy  was  embittered  by  the  thoughts  of  the  uneasiness  which 
their  long  absence  from  home  would  occasion  their  mothers. 
Virginia  often  recurred  to  this  subject ;  but  Paul,  who  felt  his 
strength  renewed  by  their  meal,  assured  her,  that  it  would  not 
be  long  before  they  reached  home,  and,  by  the  assurance  of 
their  safety,  tranquillized  the  minds  of  their  parents. 

After  dinner  they  were  much  embarrassed  by  the  recollec- 
tion that  they  had  now  no  guide,  and  that  they  were  ignorant 
of  the  way.  Paul,  whose  spirit  was  not  subdued  by  difficulties, 
said  to  Virginia, — "  The  sun  shines  full  upon  our  huts  at  noon  : 
we  must  pass,  as  we  did  this  morning,  over  that  mountain  with 
its  three  points,  which  you  see  yonder.  Come,  let  us  be  mov- 
ing." This  mountain  was  that  of  the  Three  Breasts,  so  called 
from  the  form  of  its  three  peaks.  They  then  descended  the 
steep  bank  of  the  Black  River,  on  the  northern  side  ;  and  ar- 
rived, after  an  hour's  walk,  on  the  banks  of  a  large  river,  which 
stopped  their  further  progress.  This  large  portion  of  the  island, 
covered  as  it  is  with  forests,  is  even  now  so  little  known  that 
many  of  its  rivers  and  mountains  have  not  yet  received  a  name. 
The  stream,  on  the  banks  of  which  Paul  and  Virginia  were  now 
standing,  rolls  foaming  over  a  bed  of  rocks.  The  noise  of  the 
water  frightened  Virginia,  and  she  was  afraid  to  wade  through 
the  current :  Paul  therefore  took  her  up  in  his  arms,  and  went 
thus  loaded  over  the  slippery  rocks,  which  formed  the  bed  of 
the  river,  careless  of  the  tumultuous  noise  of  its  waters.  "  Do 
not  be  afraid,"  cried  he  to  Virginia  ;  "  I  feel  very  strong  with 
you.  If  that  planter  at  the  Black  River  had  refused  you  the 
pardon  of  his  slave,  I  would  have  fought  with  him." — "  What !  " 
answered  Virginia,  "with  that  great  wicked  man?  To  what 
have  I  exposed  you  !  Gracious  heaven  !  how  difficult  it  is  to 
do  good  !  and  yet  it  is  so  easy  to  do  wrong." 

When  Paul  had  crossed  the  river,  he  wished  to  continue  the 
journey  carrying  his  sister :  and  he  flattered  himself  that  he 
could  ascend  in  that  way  the  mountain  of  the  Three  Breasts, 
which  was  still  at  the  distance  of  half  a  league  ;  but  his  strength 
soon  failed,  and  he  was  obliged  to  set  down  his  burden,  and 
to  rest  himself  by  her  side.  Virginia  then  said  to  him,  "  My 
$ear  brother,  the  sun' is  going  down;  you  have  still  some 


34 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


strength  left,  but  mine  has  quite  failed :  do  leave  me  here,  and 
return  home  alone  to  ease  the  fears  of  our  mothers." — "  Oh  no," 
said  Paul,  "  I  will  not  leave  you  if  night  overtakes  us  in  this 
wood,  I  will  light  a  fire,  and  bring  down  another  palm-tree  : 
you  shall  eat  the  cabbage,  and  I  will  form  a  covering  of  the 
leaves  to  shelter  you."  In  the  mean  time,  Virginia  being  a  little 
rested,  she  gathered  from  the  trunk  of  an  old  tree,  which  over- 
hung the  bank  of  the  river,  some  long  leaves  of  the  plant  called 
hart's  tongue,  which  grew  near  its  root.  Of  these  leaves  she 
made  a  sort  of  buskin,  with  which  she  covered  her  feet,  that 
were  bleeding  from  the  sharpness  of  the  stony  paths  ;  for  in 
her  eager  desire  to  do  good,  she  had  forgotten  to  put  on  her 
shoes.  Feeling  her  feet  cooled  by  the  freshness  of  the  leaves, 
she  broke  off  a  branch  of  bamboo,  and  continued  her  walk, 
leaning  with  one  hand  on  the  staff,  and  with  the  other  on  Paul. 
They  walked  on  in  this  manner  slowly  through  the  woods  ; 
but  from  the  height  of  the  trees,  and  the  thickness  of  their  foli- 
age, they  soon  lost  sight  of  the  mountain  of  the  Three  Breasts, 
by  which  they  had  hitherto  directed  their  course,  and  also  of 
the  sun,  which  was  now  setting.  At  length  they  wandered, 
without  perceiving  it,  from  the  beaten  path  in  which  they  had 
hitherto  walked,  and  found  themselves  in  a  labyrinth  of  trees, 
underwood,  and  rocks,  whence  there  appeared  to  be  no  outlet. 
Paul  made  Virginia  sit  down,  while  he  ran  backwards  and  for- 
wards, half  frantic,  in  search  of  a  path  which  might  lead  them 
out  of  this  thick  wood  ;  but  he  fatigued  himself  to  no  purpose. 
He  then  climbed  to  the  top  of  a  lofty  tree,  whence  he  hoped 
at  least  to  perceive  the  mountain  of  the  Three  Breasts  :  but  he 
could  discern  nothing  around  him  but  the  tops  of  trees,  some 
of  which  were  gilded  with  the  last  beams  of  the  setting  sun. 
Already  the  shadows  of  the  mountains  were  spreading  over 
the  forests  in  the  valleys.  The  wind  lulled,  as  is  usually  the 
case  at  sunset.  The  most  profound  silence  reigned  in  those 
awful  solitudes,  which  was  only  interrupted  by  the  cry  of  the 
deer,  who  came  to  their  lairs  in  that  unfrequented  spot.  Paul, 
in  the  hope  that  some  hunter  woujd  hear  his  voice,  called  out 
as  loud  as  he  was  able, — "  Come,  come  to  the  help  of  Virginia." 
But  the  echoes  of  the  forest  alone  answered  his  call,  and  re- 
peated again  and  again,  "  Virginia — Virginia." 

Paul  at  length  descended  from  the  tree,  overcome  with 
fatigue  and  vexation.  He  looked  around  in  order  to  make 
some  arrangement  for  passing  the  night  in  that  desert ;  but  he 
could  find  neither  fountain,  nor  palm-tree,  nor  even  a  branch 
gf  dry  wood  fit  for  kindling  a  fire.  H&  was  then  impressed, 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  35 

by  experience,  with  the  sense  of  his  own  weakness,  and  began 
to  weep.  Virginia  said  to  him, — "  Do  not  weep,  my  dear 
brother,  or  I  shall  be  overwhelmed  with  grief.  1  am  the  cause 
of  all  your  sorrow,  and  of  all  that  our  mothers  are  suf- 
fering at  this  moment.  I  find  we  ought  to  do  nothing, 
not  even  good,  without  consulting  our  parents.  Oh,  I 
have  been  very  imprudent !  " — and  she  .began  to  shed  tears. 
"  Let  us  pray  to  God,  my  dear  brother,"  she  again  said,  "  and 
he  will  hear  us."  They  had  scarcely  finished  their  prayer, 
when  they  heard  the  barking  of  a  dog.  "  It  must  be  the  dog 
of  some  hunter,"  said  Paul,  who  comes  here  at  night,  to  lie  in 
wait  for  the  deer."  Soon  after,  the  dog  began  barking  again 
with  increased  violence.  "  Surely,"  said  Virginia,  "  it  is 
Fidele,  our  own  dog  :  yes, — now  I  know  his  bark.  Are  we 
then  so  near  home  ? — at  the  foot  of  our  own  mountain  ?  "  A 
moment  after  Fidele  was  at  their  feet,  barking,  howling,  moan- 
ing, and- devouring  them  with  caresses.  Before  they  could  re- 
cover from  their  surprise,  they  saw  Domingo  running  towards 
them.  At  the  sight  of  the  good  old  negro,  who  wept  for  joy, 
they  began  to  weep  too,  but  had  not  the  power  to  utter  a  syl- 
lable. When  Domingo  had  recovered  himself  a  little,  "  Oh, 
my  dear  children,"  said  he,  "  how  miserable  have  you  made 
your  mothers  !  How  astonished  they  were  when  they  returned 
with  me  from  mass,  on  not  finding  you  at  home.  Mary,  who 
was  at  work  at  a  little  distance,  could  not  tell  us  where  you 
were  gone.  I  ran  backwards  and  forwards  in  the  plantation, 
not  knowing  where  to  look  for  you.  At  last  I  took  some  of 
your  old  clothes,  and  showing  them  to  Fidele,  the  poor  animal, 
as  if  he  understood  me,  immediately  began  to  scent  your  path ; 
and  conducted  me,  wagging  his  tail  all  the  while,  to  the  Black 
River.  I  there  saw  a  planter,  who  told  me  you  had  brought 
back  a  Maroon  negro  woman,  his  slave,  and  that  he  had  par- 
doned her  at  your  request.  But  what  a  pardon  !  he  showed 
her  to  me  with  her  feet  chained  to  a  block  of  wood,  and  an 
iron  collar  with  three  hooks  fastened  round  her  neck  !  After 
that,  Fidele,  still  on  the  scent,  led  me  up  the  steep  bank  of  the 
Black  River,  where  he  again  stopped,  and  barked  with  all  his 
might.  This  was  on  the  brink  of  a  spring,  near  which  was  a 
fallen  palm-tree,  and  a  fire,  still  smoking.  At  last  he  led  me 
to  this  very  spot.  We  are  now  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  of 
the  Three  Breasts,  and  still  four  good  leagues  from  home, 
Come  eat,  and  recover  your  strength."  Domingo  then  pre- 
sented them  with  a  cake,  some  fruit,  and  a  large  gourd  full  of 
beverage  composed  of  wine,  water,  lemon-juice,  sugar,  and  nut- 


36  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

meg,  which  their  mothers  had  prepared  to  invigorate  and  re- 
fresh them.  Virginia  sighed  at  the  recollection  of  the  poor 
slave,  and  at  the  uneasiness  they  had  given  their  mothers. 
She  repeated  several  times.  "  Oh,  how  difficult  it  is  to  do 
good !  "  While  she  and  Paul  were  taking  refreshment,  it  be- 
ing already  night,  Domingo  kindled  a  fire  :  and  having  found 
among  the  rocks  a  particular  kind  of  twisted  wood,  called  bois 
de  ronde,  which  burns  when  quite  green,  and  throws  out  a 
great  blaze,  he  made  a  torch  of  it,  which  he  lighted.  But  when 
they  prepared  to  continue  their  journey,  a  new  difficulty  oc- 
curred ;  Paul  and  Virginia  could  no  longer  walk,  their  feet  be- 
ing violently  swollen  and  inflamed.  Domingo  knew  not  what 
to  do  ;  whether  to  leave  them  and  go  in  search  of  help,  or  re- 
main and  pass  the  night  with  them  on  that  spot.  "  There  was 
a  time,"  said  he,  "  when  I  could  carry  you  both  together  in 
my  arms  !  But  now  you  are  grown  big,  and  I  am  grown  old." 
While  he  was  in  this  perplexity,  a  troop  of  Maroon  negroes 
appeared  at  a  short  distance  from  them.  The  chief  of  the 
band,  approaching  Paul  and  Virginia,  said  to  them, — "  Good 
little  white  people,  do  not  be  afraid.  We  saw  you  pass  this 
morning,  with  a  negro  woman  of  the  Black  River.  You  went 
to  ask  pardon  for  her  of  her  wicked  master ;  and  we,  in  return  for 
this,  will  carry  you  home  upon  our  shoulders."  He  then  made 
a  sign,  and  four  of  the  strongest  negroes  immediately  formed 
a  sort  of  litter  with  the  branches  of  trees  and  lianas,  and  hav- 
ing seated  Paul  and  Virginia  on  it,  carried  them  upon  their 
shoulders.  Domingo  marched  in  front  with  his  lighted  torch, 
and  they  proceeded  amidst  the  rejoicings  of  the  whole  troop, 
who  overwhelmed  them  with  their  benedictions.  Virginia,  af- 
fected by  this  scene,  said  to  Paul,  with  emotion, — "  Oh,  my  dear 
brother  !  God  never  leaves  a  good  action  unrewarded." 

It  was  midnight  when  they  arrived  at  the  foot  of  their 
mountain,  on  the  ridges  of  which  several  fires  were  lighted. 
As  soon  as  they  began  to  ascend,  they  heard  voices  exclaim- 
ing— "  Is  it  you,  my  children  ?  "  They  answered  immediately, 
and  the  negroes  also, — "  Yes,  yes,  it  is."  A  moment  after 
they  could  distinguish  their  mothers  and  Mary  coming  towards 
them  with  lighted  sticks  in  their  hands.  "  Unhappy  children," 
cried  Madame  de  la  Tour,  "  where  have  you  been  ?  What 
agonies  you  have  made  us  suffer  !  " — "  We  have  been,"  said  Vir- 
ginia, "  to  the  Black  River,  where  we  went  to  ask  pardon  for  a 
poor  Maroon  slave,  to  whom  I  gave  our  breakfast  this  morning, 
because  she  seemed  dying  of  hunger ;  and  these  Maroon  negroes 
have  brought  us  home."  Madame  de  la  Tour  embraced  her 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


37 


daughter,  without  being  able  to  speak  ;  and  Virginia,  who  felt 
her  face  wet  with  her  mother's  tears,  exclaimed,  "  Now  I  am  re- 
paid  for  all  the  hardships  I  have  suffered."  Margaret,  in  a 
transport  of  delight,  pressed  Paul  in  her  arms,  exclaiming, 
"  And  you  also,  my  dear  child,  you  have  done  a  good  action." 
When  they  reached  the  cottages  with  their  children,  they  en- 
tertained all  the  negroes  with  a  plentiful  repast,  after  which 
the  latter  returned  to  the  woods,  praying  Heaven  to  shower 
down  every  description  of  blessing  on  those  good  white  people. 

Every  day  was  to  these  families  a  day  of  happiness  and 
tranquillity.  Neither  ambition  nor  envy  disturbed  their  repose. 
They  did  not  seek  to  obtain  a  useless  reputation  out  of  doors, 
which  may  be  procured  by  artifice  and  lost  by  calumny ;  but 
were  contented  to  be  the  sole  witnesses  and  judges  of  their 
own  actions.  In  this  island,  where,  as  is  the  case  in  most 
colonies,  scandal  forms  the  principal  topic  of  conversation, 
their  virtues,  and  even  their  names,  were  unknown.  The 
passer-by  on  the  road  to  the  Shaddock  Grove,  indeed,  would 
sometimes  ask  the  inhabitants  of  the  plain,  who  lived  in  the 
cottages  up  there  ?  and  was  always  told,  even  by  those  who 
did  not  know  them,  "  They  are  good  people."  The  modest 
violet  thus,  concealed  in  thorny  places,  sheds  all  unseen  its  de- 
lightful fragrance  around. 

Slander,  which,  under  an  appearance  of  justice,  naturally 
inclines  the  heart  to  falsehood  or  to  hatred,  was  entirely  ban- 
ished from  their  conversation  ;  for  it  is  impossible  not  to  hate 
men  if  we  believe  them  to  be  wicked,  or  to  live  with  the  wicked 
without  concealing  that  hatred  under  a  false  pretence  of  good 
feeling.  Slander  thus  puts  us  ill  at  ease  with  others  and  with 
ourselves.  In  this  little  circle,  therefore,  the  conduct  of  indi- 
viduals was  not  discussed,  but  the  best  manner  of  doing  good 
to  all ;  and  although  they  had  but  little  in  their  power,  their 
unceasing  good-will  and  kindness  of  heart  made  them  con- 
stantly ready  to  do  what  they  could  for  others.  Solitude,  far 
from  having  blunted  these  benevolent  feelings,  had  rendered 
their  dispositions  even  more  kindly.  Although  the  petty  scan- 
dais  of  the  day  furnished  no  subject  of  conversation  to  them, 
yet  the  contemplation  of  nature  filled  their  minds  with  enthu- 
siastic delight.  They  adored  the  bounty  of  that  Providence, 
which,  by  their  instrumentality,  had  spread  abundance  and 
beauty  amid  these  barren  rocks,  and  had  enabled  them  to 
enjoy  those  pure  and  simple  pleasures,  which  are  ever  grateful 
and  ever  new. 

Paul,  at  twelve  years  of  age,  was  stronger  and  more  intelli- 

JQ 


38  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

gent  than  most  European  youths  are  at  fifteen ;  and  the  planta- 
tions, which  Domingo  merely  cultivated,  were  embellished  by 
him.  He  would  go  with  the  old  negro  into  the  neighboring 
woods,  where  he  would  root  up  the  young  plants  of  lemon, 
orange,  and  tamarind  trees,  the  round  heads  of  which  are  so 
fresh  a  green,  together  with  date-palm  trees,  which  produce 
fruit  filled  with  a  sweet  cream,  possessing  the  fine  perfume  of 
the  orange  flower.  These  trees,  which  had  already  attained 
to  a  considerable  size,  he  planted  round  their  little  enclosure. 
He  had  also  sown  the  seed  of  many  trees  which  the  second 
year  bear  flowers  or  fruit ;  such  as  the  agathis,  encircled  with 
long  clusters  of  white  flowers  which  hang  from  it  like  the  crys- 
tal pendants  of  a  chandelier ;  the  Persian  lilac,  which  lifts  high 
in  air  its  gray  flax-colored  branches  ;  the  pappaw  tree,  the 
branchless  trunk  of  which  forms  a  column  studded  with  green 
melons,  surmounted  by  a  capital  of  broad  leaves  similar  to 
those  of  the  fig-tree. 

The  seeds  and  kernels  of  the  gum  tree,  terminalia,  mango, 
alligator  pear,  the  guava,  the  bread-fruit  tree,  and  the  narrow- 
leaved  rose-apple,  were  also  planted  by  him  with  profusion  : 
and  the  greater  number  of  these  trees  already  afforded  their 
young  cultivator  both  shade  and  fruit.  His  industrious  hands 
diffused  the  riches  of  nature  over  even  the  most  barren  parts 
of  the  plantation.  Several  species  of  aloes,  the  Indian  fig, 
adorned  with  yellow  flowers  spotted  with  red,  and  the  thorny 
torch  thistle,  grew  upon  the  dark  summits  of  the  rocks,  and 
seemed  to  aim  at  reaching  the  long  lianas,  which,  laden  with 
blue  or  scarlet  flowers,  hung  scattered  over  the  steepest  parts 
of  the  mountain. 

I  loved  to  trace  the  ingenuity  he  had  exercised  in  the  ar- 
rangement of  these  trees.  He  had  so  disposed  them  that  the 
whole  could  be  seen  at  a  single  glance.  In  the  middle  of  the 
hollow  he*  had  planted  shrubs  of  the  lowest  growth  ;  behind 
grew  the  more  lofty  sorts  ;  then  trees  of  the  ordinary  height ; 
and  beyond  and  above  all,  the  venerable  and  lofty  groves  which 
border  the  circumference.  Thus  this  extensive  enclosure  ap- 
peared, from  its  centre,  like  a  verdant  amphitheatre  decorated 
with  fruits  and  flowers,  containing  a  variety  of  vegetables,  some 
strips  of  meadow  land,  and  fields  of  rice  and  corn.  But,  in 
arranging  these  vegetable  productions  to  his  own  taste,  he 
wandered  not  too  far  from  the  designs  of  Nature.  Guided  by 
her  suggestions,  he  had  thrown  upon  the  elevated  spots  such 
seeds  as  the  winds  would  scatter  about,  and  near  the  borders 
of  the  springs  those  which  float  upon  the  water.  Every  plant 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


39 


thus  grew  in  its  proper  soil,  and  every  spot  seemed  decorated 
.by  Nature's  own  hand. '  The  streams  which  fell  from  the  sum- 
mits of  the  rocks  formed  in  some  parts  of  the  valley  sparkling 
cascades,  and  in  others  were  spread  into  broad  mirrors,  in 
which  were  reflected,  set  in  verdure,  the  flowering  trees,  the 
overhanging  rocks,  and  the  azure  heavens. 

Notwithstanding  the  great  irregularity  of  the  ground, 
these  plantations  were,  for  the  most  part,  easy  of  access.  We 
had,  indeed,  all  given  him  our  advice  and  assistance,  in  order 
to  accomplish  this  end.  He  had  conducted  one  path  entirely 
round  the  valley,  and  various  branches  from  it  led  from  the 
circumference  to  the  centre.  He  had  drawn  some  advantage 
from  the  most  rugged  spots,  and  had  blended,  in  harmonious 
union,  level  walks  with  the  inequalities  of  the  soil,  and  trees 
which  grow  wild  with  the  cultivated  varieties.  With  that  im- 
mense quantity  of  large  pebbles  which  now  block  up  these 
paths,  and  which  are  scattered  over  most  of  the  ground  of  this 
island,  he  formed  pyramidal  heaps  here  and  there,  at  the  base 
of  which  he  laid  mould,  and  planted  rose-bushes,  the  Barbadoes 
flower-fence,  and  other  shrubs  which  love  to  climb  the  rocks. 
In  a  short  time  the  dark  and  shapeless  heaps  of  stones  he  had 
constructed  were  covered  with  verdure,  or  with  the  glowing 
tints  of  the  most  beautiful  flowers.  Hollow  recesses  on  the 
borders  of  ths  streams  shaded  by  the  overhanging  boughs  of 
aged  trees,  formed  rural  grottoes,  impervious  to  the  rays  of  the 
sun,  in  which  you  might  enjoy  a  refreshing  coolness  during  the 
mid-day  heats.  One  path  led  to  a  clump  of  forest  trees,  in 
the  centre  of  which,  sheltered  from  the  wind,  you  found  a  fruit 
tree,  laden  with  produce.  Here  was  a  corn-field ;  there,  an 
orchard  ;  from  one  avenue  you  had  a  view  of  the  cottages  ; 
from  another,  of  the  inaccessible  summit  of  the  mountain. 
Beneath  one  tufted  bower  of  gum-trees,  interwoven  with  lianas, 
no  object  whatever  could  be  perceived  :  while  the  point  of  the 
adjoining  rock,  jutting  out  from  the  mountain,  commanded  a 
view  of  the  whole  enclosure,  and  of  the  distant  ocean,  where, 
occasionally,  we  could  discern  the  distant  sail,  arriving  from 
Europe,  or  bound  thither.  On  this  rock  the  two  families  fre- 
quently met  in  the  evening,  and  enjoyed  in  silence  the  fresh- 
ness of  the  flowers,  the  gentle  murmurs  of  the  fountain,  and 
the  last  blended  harmonies  of  light  and  shade. 

Nothing  could  be  more  charming  than  the  names  which 
were  bestowed  upon  some  of  the  delightful  retreats  of  this 
labyrinth.  The  rock  of  which  I  have  been  speaking,  whence 
they  could  discern  my  approach  at  a  considerable  distance,  was 


40  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA 

called  the  Discovery  of  Friendship.  Paul  and  Virginia  had 
amused  themselves  by  planting  a  bamboo  on  that  spot ;  and 
whenever  they  saw  me  coming,  they  hoisted  a  little  white  hand- 
kerchief, by  way  of  signal  at  my  approach,  as  they  had  seen  a 
flag  hoisted  on  the  neighboring  mountain  on  the  sight  of  a 
vessel  at  sea.  The  idea  struck  me  of  engraving  an  inscription 
on  the  stalk  of  this  reed ;  for  I  never,  in  the  course  of  my 
travels,  experienced  anything  like  the  pleasure  in  seeing  a 
statue  or  other  monument  of  ancient  art,  as  in  reading  a  well- 
written  inscription.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  a  human  voice  issued 
from  the  stone,  and,  making  itself  heard  after  the  lapse  of 
ages,  addressed  man  in  the  midst  of  a  desert,  to  tell  him  that 
he  is  not  alone,  and  that  other  men,  on  that  very  spot,  had 
felt,  and  thought,  and  suffered  like  himself.  If  the  inscription 
belongs  to  an  ancient  nation,  which  no  longer  exists,  it  leads 
the  soul  through  infinite  space,  and  strengthens  the  conscious- 
ness of  its  immortality,  by  demonstrating  that  a  thought  has 
survived  the  ruins  of  an  empire. 

I  inscribed  then,  on  the  little  staff  of  Paul  and  Virginia's 
flag,  the  following  lines  of  Horace  : — 

Fratres  Helenae,  lucida  sidera, 
Ventorumque  regat  pater, 
Obstrictis,  aliis,  praeter  lapiga. 

"  May  the  brothers  of  Helen,  bright  stars  like  you,  and  the  Father  of 
the  winds,  guide  you  ;  and  may  you  feel  only  the  breath  of  the  zephyr." 

There  was  a  gum-tree,  under  the  shade  of  which  Paul  was 
accustomed  to  sit,  to  contemplate  the  sea  when  agitated  by 
storms.  On  the  bark  of  this  tree,  I  engraved  the  following 
lines  from  Virgil : — 

Fortunatus  et  ille  deos  qui  novit  agrestes  ! 
"  Happy  art  thou,  my  son,  in  knowing  only  the  pastoral  divinities." 

And  over  the  door  of  Madame  de  la  Tour's  cottage,  where 
the  families  so  frequently  met,  I  placed  this  line  : — 

At  secura  quies,  et  nescia  fallere  vita. 
"  Here  dwell  a  calm  conscience,  and  a  life  that  knows  not  deceit." 

But  Virginia  did  not  approve  of  my  Latin  :  she  said,  that 
what  I  had  placed  at  the  foot  of  her  flag-staff  was  too  long  and 
too  learned.  "  I  should  have  liked  better,"  added  she,  "  to 
have  seen  inscribed,  EVER  AGITATED,  VET  CONSTANT." — "  Such 


PAUL  AND  VIRGTNIA.  4, 

a  motto,"  I  answered,  "  would  have  been  still  more  applicable 
to  virtue."  My  reflection  made  her  blush. 

The  delicacy  of  sentiment  of  these  happy  families  was 
manifested  in  everything  around  them.  They  gave  the  ten- 
derest  names  to  objects  in  appearance  the  most  indifferent.  A 
border  of  orange,  plantain,  and  rose-apple  trees,  planted  round 
a  green  sward  where  Virginia  and  Paul  sometimes  danced,  re- 
ceived the  name  of  Concord.  An  old  tree,  beneath  the  shade 
of  which  Madame  de  la  Tour  and  Margaret  used  to  recount 
their  misfortunes,  was  called  the  Burial-place  of  Tears.  They 
bestowed  the  names  of  Brittany  and  Normandy  on  two  little 
plots  of  ground,  where  they  had  sown  corn,  strawberries,  and 
peas.  Domingo  and  Mary,  wishing,  in  imitation  of  their  mis- 
tresses, to  recall -to  mind  Angola  and  Foullepointe,  the  places 
of  their  birth  in  Africa,  gave  those  names  to  the  little  fields 
where  the  grass  was  sown  with  which  they  wove  their  baskets, 
and  where  they  had  planted  a  calabash-tree.  Thus  by  cultivat- 
ing the  productions  of  their  respective  climates,  these  exiled 
families  cherished  the  dear  illusions  which  bind  us  to  our 
native  country,  and  softened  their  regrets  in  a  foreign  land. 
Alas  !  I  have  seen  these' trees,  these  fountains,  these  heaps  of 
stones,  which  are  now  so  completely  overthrown, — which  now, 
like  the  desolated  plains  of  Greece,  present  nothing  but  masses 
of  ruin  and  affecting  remembrances,  all  but  called  into  life  by 
the  many  charming  appellations  thus  bestowed  upon  them ! 

But  perhaps  the  most  delightful  spot  of  this  enclosure  was 
that  called  Virginia's  resting-place.  At  the  foot  of  the  rock 
which  bore  the  name  of  the  Discovery  of  Friendship,  is  a  small 
crevice,  whence  issues  a  fountain,  forming,  near  its  source,  a 
little  spot  of  marshy  soil  in  the  middle  of  a  field  of  rich  grass. 
At  the  time  of  Paul's  birth  I  had  made  Margaret  a  present  of 
an  Indian  cocoa  which  had  been  given  me,  and  which  she 
planted  on  the  border  of  this  fenny  ground,  in  order  that  the 
tree  might  one  day  serve  to  mark  the  epoch  of  her  son's  birth. 
Madame  de  la  Tour  planted  another  cocoa  with  the  same  view, 
at  the  birth  of  Virginia.  These  nuts  produced  two  cocoa-trees, 
which  formed  the  only  records  of  the  two  families ;  one  was 
called  Paul's  tree,  the  other,  Virginia's.  Their  growth  was  in 
the  same  proportion  as  that  of  the  two  young  persons,  not 
exactly  equal :  but  they  rose,  at  the  end  of  twelve  years,  above 
the  roofs  of  the  cottages.  Already  their  tender  stalks  were  in- 
terwoven, and  clusters  of  young  cocoas  hung  from  them  over 
the  basin  of  the  fountain.  With  the  exception  of  these  two 
trees,  this  nook  of  the  rock  was  left  as  it  had  been  decorated 


42  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

by  nature.  On  its  embrowned  and  moist  sides  broad  plants  of 
maiden-hair  glistened  with  their  green  and  dark  stars  ;  and 
tufts  of  wave-leaved  hart's  tongue,  suspended  like  long  ribbons 
of  purpled  green,  floated  on  the  wind.  Near  this  grew  a  chain 
of  the  Madagascar  periwinkle,  the  flowers  of  which  resemble 
the  red  gilliflower ;  and  the  long-podded  capsicum,  the  seed- 
vessels  of  which  are  of  the  color  of  blood,  and  more  resplen- 
dent than  coral.  Near  them,  the  herb  balm,  with  its  heart- 
shaped  leaves,  and  the  sweet  basil,  which  has  the  odor  of  the 
clove,  exhaled  the  most  delicious  perfumes.  From  the  pre- 
cipitous side  of  the  mountain  hung  the  graceful  lianas,  like 
floating  draperies,  forming  magnificent  canopies  of  verdure  on 
the  face  of  the  rocks.  The  sea-birds,  allured  by  the  stillness 
of  these  retreats,  resorted  here  to  pass  the  night.  At  the  hour 
of  sunset  we  could  perceive  the  curiew  and  the  stint  skimming 
along  the  sea-shore ;  the  frigate-bird  poised  high  in  air ;  and 
the  white  bird  of  the  tropic,  which  abandons,  with  the  star  of 
day,  the  solitudes  of  the  Indian  ocean.  Virginia  took  pleasure 
in  resting  herself  upon  the  border  of  this  fountain,  decorated 
with  wild  and  sublime  magnificence.  She  often  went  thither  to 
wash  the  linen  of  the  family  beneath  the  shade  of  the  two 
cocoa-trees,  and  thither  too  she  sometimes  led  her  goats  to 
graze.  While  she  was  making  cheeses  of  their  milk,  she  loved 
to  see  them  browse  on  the  maiden-hair  fern  which  clothed  the 
steep  sides  of  the  rock,  and  hung  suspended  by  one  of  its  cor- 
nices, as  on  a  pedestal.  Paul,  observing  that  Virginia  was 
fond  of  this  spot,  brought  thither,  from  the  neighboring  forest, 
a  great  variety  of  bird's  nests.  The  old  birds  following  their 
young,  soon  established  themselves  in  this  new  colony.  Vir- 
ginia, at  stated  times,  distributed  amongst  them  grains  of  rice, 
millet,  and  maize.  As  soon  as  she  appeared,  the  whistling 
blackbird,  the  amadavid  bird,  whose  note  is  so  soft,  the  cardi- 
nal, with  its  flame-colored  plumage,  forsook  their  bushes  ;  the 
parroquet,  green  as  an  emerald,  descended  from  the  neighbor- 
ing fan-palms,  the  partridge  ran  along  the  grass ;  all  advanced 
promiscuously  towards  her,  like  a  brood  of  chickens :  and  she 
and  Paul  found  an  exhaustless  source  of  amusement  in  observ- 
ing their  sports,  their  repasts,  and  their  loves. 

Amiable  children !  thus  passed  your  earlier  days  in  inno- 
cence, and  in  obeying  the  impulses  of  kindness.  How  many 
times,  on  this  very  spot,  have  your  mothers,  pressing  you  in 
their  arms,  blessed  Heaven  for  the  consolation  your  unfolding 
virtues  prepared  for  their  declining  years,  while  they  at  the 
same  time  enjoyed  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  you  begin  life 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  43 

under  the  happiest  auspices  !  How  many  times,  beneath  the 
shade  of  those  rocks,  have  I  partaken  with  them  of  your  rural 
repasts,  which  never  cose  any  animal  its  life  !  Gourds  full  of 
milk,  fresh  eggs,  cakes  of  rice  served  up  on  plantain  leaves, 
with  baskets  of  mangoes,  oranges,  dates,  pomegranates,  pine- 
apples, furnished  a  wholesome  repast,  the  most  agreeable  to 
the  eye,  as  well  as  delicious  to  the  taste,  that  can  possibly  be 
imagined. 

Like  the  repast,  the  conversation  was  mild,  and  free  from 
everything  having  a  tendency  to  do  harm.  Paul  often  talked 
of  the  labors  of  the  day  and  of  the  morrow.  He  was  continu- 
ally planning  something  for  the  accommodation  of  their  little 
society.  Here  he  discovered  that  the  paths  were  rugged ; 
there,  that  the  seats  were  uncomfortable  :  sometimes  the  young 
arbors  did  not  afford  sufficient  shade,  and  Virginia  might  be 
better  pleased  elsewhere. 

During  the  rainy  season  the  two  families  met  together  in 
the  cottage,  and  employed  themselves  in  weaving  mats  of  grass, 
and  baskets  of  bamboo.  Rakes,  spades,  and  hatchets,  were 
ranged  along  the  walls  in  the  most  perfect  order ;  and  near 
these  instruments  of  agriculture  were  heaped  its  products, — 
bags  of  rice,  sheaves  of  corn,  and  baskets  of  plantains.  Some 
degree  of  luxury  usually  accompanies  abundance  ;  and  Vir- 
ginia was  taught  by  her  mother  and  Margaret  to  prepare  sher- 
bert  and  cordials  from  the  juice  of  the  sugar-cane,  the  lemon 
and  the  citron. 

When  night  came,  they  all  supped  together  by  the  light  of 
a  lamp ;  after  which  Madame  de  la  Tour  or  Margaret  related 
some  story  of  travellers  benighted  in  those  woods  of  Europe 
that  are  still  infested  by  banditti ;  or  told  a  dismal  tale  of  some 
shipwrecked  vessel,  thrown  by  the  tempest  upon  the  rocks  of 
a  desert  island.  To  these  recitals  the  children  listened  with 
eager  attention,  and  earnestly  hoped  that  Heaven  would  one 
day  grant  them  the  joy  of  performing  the  rites  of  hospitality 
towards  such  unfortunate  persons.  When  the  time  for  repose 
arrived,  the  two  families  separated  and  retired  for  the  night, 
eager  to  meet  again  the  following  ."norning.  Sometimes  they 
were  lulled  to  repose  by  the  beating  of  the  rains,  which  fell  in 
torrents  upon  the  roofs  of  their  cottages,  and  sometimes  by  the 
hollow  winds,  which  brought  to  their  ear  the  distant  roar  of 
the  waves  breaking  upon  the  shore.  They  blessed  God  for 
their  own  safety,  the  feeling  of  which  was  brought  home  more 
forcibly  to  their  minds  by  the  sound  of  remote  danger. 

Madame  de  la  Tour  occasionally  read  aloud  some  affecting 


44  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

history  of  the  Old  or  New  Testament.  Her  auditors  reasoned 
but  little  upon  these  sacred  volumes,  for  their  theology  centred 
in  a  feeling  of  devotion  towards  the  Supreme  Being,  like  that 
of  nature  ;  and  their  morality  was  an  active  principle,  like  that 
of  the  Gospel.  These  families  had  no  particular  days  devoted 
to  pleasure,  and  others  to  sadness.  Every  day  was  to  them  a 
holiday,  and  all  that  surrounded  them  one  holy  temple,  in 
which  they  ever  adored  the  Infinite  Intelligence,  the  Almighty 
God,  the  Friend  of  human  kind.  A  feeling  of  confidence  in 
his  supreme  power  filled  their  minds  with  consolation  for  the 
past,  with  fortitude  under  present  trials,  and  with  hope  in  the 
future.  Compelled  by  misfortune  to  return  almost  to  a  state 
of  nature,  these  excellent  women  had  thus  developed  in  their 
own  and  their  children's  bosoms  the  feelings  most  natural  to 
the  human  mind,  and  its  best  support  under  affliction. 

But,  as  clouds  sometimes  arise,  and  cast  a  gloom  over  the 
best  regulated  tempers,  so  whenever  any  member  of  this  little 
society  appeared  to  be  laboring  under  dejection,  the  rest 
assembled  around,  and  endeavored  to  banish  her  painful 
thoughts  by  amusing  the  mind  rather  than  by  grave  arguments 
against  them.  Each  performed  this  kind  office  in  their  own 
appropriate  manner  :  Margaret,  by  her  gayety ;  Madame  de  la 
Tour,  by  the  gentle  consolations  of  religion  ;  Virginia,  by  her 
tender  caresses ;  Paul,  by  his  frank  and  engaging  cordiality. 
Even  Mary  and  Domingo  hastened  to  offer  their  succor,  and 
to  weep  with  those  that  wept.  Thus  do  weak  plants  interweave 
themselves  with  each  other,  in  order  to  withstand  the  fury  of 
the  tempest. 

During  the  fine  season,  they  went  every  Sunday  to  the 
church  of  the  Shaddock  Grove,  the  steeple  of  which  you  see 
yonder  upon  the  plain.  Many  wealthy  members  of  the  congre- 
gation, who  came  to  church  in  palanquins,  sought  the  acquaint- 
ance of  these  united  families,  and  invited  them  to  parties  of 
pleasure.  But  they  always  repelled  these  overtures  with  re- 
spectful politeness,  as  they  were  persuaded  that  the  rich  and 
powerful  seek  the  society  of  persons  in  an  inferior  station  only 
for  the  sake  of  surrounding  themselves  with  flatterers,  and  that 
every  flatterer  must  applaud  alike  all  the  actions  of  his  patron, 
whether  good  or  bad.  On  the  other  hand,  they  avoided,  with 
equal  care,  too  intimate  an  acquaintance  with  the  lower  class, 
who  are  ordinarily  jealous,  calumniating,  and  gross.  They 
thus  acquired,  with  some,  the  character  of  being  timid,  and  with 
others,  of  pride :  but  their  reserve  was  accompanied  with  so 
much  obliging  politeness,  above  all  towards  the  unfortunate 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  45 

and  the  unhappy,  that  they  insensibly  acquired  the  respect  of 
the  rich  and  the  confidence  of  the  poor. 

After  service,  some  kind  office  was  often  required  at  their 
hands  by  their  poor  neighbors.  Sometimes  a  person  troubled 
in  mind  sought  their  advice  ;  sometimes  a  child  begged  them 
to  visit  its  sick  mother,  in  one  of  the  adjoining  hamlets.  They 
always  took  with  them  a  few  remedies  for  the  ordinary  diseases 
of  the  country,  which  they  administered  in  that  soothing  man- 
ner which  stamps  a  value  upon  the  smallest  favors.  Above  all, 
they  met  with  singular  success  in  administering  to  the  disorders 
of  the  mind,  so  intolerable  in  solitude,  and  under  the  infirmities 
of  a  weakened  frame.  Madame  de  la  Tour  spoke  with  such 
sublime  confidence  of  the  Divinity,  that  the  sick,  while  listening 
to  her,  almost  believed  him  present.  Virginia  often  returned 
home  with  her  eyes  full  of  tears,  and  her  heart  overflowing 
with  delight,  at  having  had  an  opportunity  of  doing  good  ;  for 
to  her  generally  was  confided  the  task  of  preparing  and  admin- 
istering the  medicines,— a  task  which  she  fulfilled  with  angelic 
sweetness.  After  these  visits  of  charity,  they  sometimes  ex- 
tended their  walk  by  the  Sloping  Mountain,  till  they  reached 
my  dwelling,  where  I  used  to  prepare  dinner  for  them  on  the 
banks  of  the  little  rivulet  which  glides  near  my  cottage.  I  pro- 
cured for  these  occasions  a  few  bottles  of  old  wine,  in  order  to 
heighten  the  relish  of  our  Oriental  repast  by  the  more  genial 
productions  of  Europe.  At  other  times  we  met  on  the  sea-shore 
at  the  mouth  of  some  little  river,  or  rather  mere  brook.  We 
brought  from  home  the  provisions  furnished  us  by  our  gardens, 
to  which  we  added  those  supplied  us  by  the  sea  in  abundant 
variety.  We  caught  on  these  shores  the  mullet,  the  roach,  and 
the  sea-urchin,  lobsters,  shrimps,  crabs,  oysters,  and  all  other 
kinds  of  shell-fish.  In  this  way,  we  often  enjoyed  the  most 
tranquil  pleasures  in  situations  the  most  terrific.  Sometimes, 
seated  upon  a  rock,  under  the  shade  of  the  velvet  sunflower-tree, 
we  saw  the  enormous  waves  of  the  Indian  Ocean  break  beneath 
our  feet  with  a  tremendous  noise.  P?.ul,  who  could  swim  like 
a  fish,  would  advance  on  the  reefs  to  meet  the  coming  billows  j 
then,  at  their  near  approach,  would  run  back  to  the  beach, 
closely  pursued  by  the  foaming  breakers,  which  threw  them- 
selves, with  a  roaring  noise,  far  on  the  sands.  But  Virginia,  at 
this  sight,  uttered  piercing  cries,  and  said  that  such  sports 
frightened  her  too  much. 

Other  amusements  were  not  wanting  on  these  festive  occa- 
sions. Our  repasts  were  generally  followed  by  the  songs  and 
dances  of  the  two  young  people.  Virginia  sang  the  happiness 


46  PAUL  AND   VIRGINIA. 

of  pastoral  life,  and  the  misery  of  those  who  were  impelled  by 
avarice  to  cross  the  raging  ocean,  rather  than  cultivate  the 
earth,  and  enjoy  its  bounties  in  peace.  Sometimes  she  per- 
formed a  pantomime  with  Paul,  after  the  manner  of  the  negroes. 
The  first  language  of  man  is  pantomime  :  it  is  known  to  all  na- 
tions, and  is  so  natural  and  expressive,  that  the  children  of  the 
European  inhabitants  catch  it  with  facility  from  the  negroes. 
Virginia,  recalling,  from  among  the  histories  which  her  mother 
had  read  to*  her,  those  which  had  affected  her  most,  represented 
the  principal  events  in  them  with  beautiful  simplicity.  Some- 
times at  the  sound  of  Domingo's  tantam  she  appeared  upon  the 
green  sward,  bearing  a  pitcher  upon  her  head,  and  advanced 
with  a  timid  step  towards  the  source  of  a  neighboring  fountain 
to  draw  water.  Domingo  and  Mary,  personating  the  shepherds 
of  Midian,  forbade  her  to  approach,  and  repulsed  her  sternly. 
Upon  this  Paul  flew  to  her  succor,  beat  away  the  shepherds, 
filled  Virginia's  pitcher,  and  placing  it  upon  her  head,  bound 
her  brows  at  the  same  time  with  a  wreath  of  the  red  flowers  of 
the  Madagascar  periwinkle,  which  served  to  heighten  the  deli- 
cacy of  her  complexion.  Then  joining  in  their  sports,  I  took 
upon  myself  the  part  of  Raguel,  and  bestowed  upon  Paul,  my 
daughter  Zephora  in  marriage. 

Another  time  Virginia  would  represent  the  unhappy  Ruth, 
returning  poor  and  widowed  with  her  mother-in-law,  who,  after 
so  prolonged  an  absence,  found  herself  as  unknown  as  in  a  for- 
eign land.  Domingo  and  Mary  personated  the  reapers.  The 
supposed  daughter  of  Naomi  followed  their  steps,  gleaning  here 
and  there  a  few  ears  of  corn.  When  interrogated  by  Paul, — a 
part  which  he  performed  with  the  gravity  of  a  patriarch, — she 
answered  his  questions  with  a  faltering  voice.  He  then,  touched 
with  compassion,  granted  an  asylum  to  innocence,  and  hospi- 
tality to  misfortune.  He  filled  her  lap  with  plenty ;  and,  lead- 
ing her  towards  us  as  before  the  elders  of  the  city,  declared  his 
purpose  to  take  her  in  marriage.  At  this  scene,  Madame  de 
la  Tour,  recalling  the  desolate  situation  in  which  she  had  been 
left  by  her  relations,  her  widowhood,  and  the  kind  reception 
she  had  met  with  from  Margaret,  succeeded  now  by  the  sooth- 
ing hope  of  a  happy  union  between  their  children,  could  not 
forbear  weeping  ;  and  these  mixed  recollections  of  good  and 
evil  caused  us  all  to  unite  with  her  in  shedding  tears  of  sorrow 
and  of  joy. 

These  dramas  were  performed  with  such  an  air  of  reality 
that  you  might  have  fancied  yourself  transported  to  the  plains 
of  Syria  or  of  Palestine,  We  were  not  unfurnished  with  deco- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  47 

rations,  lights,  or  an  orchestra,  suitable  to  the  representation. 
The  scene  was  generally  placed  in  an  open  space  of  the  forest, 
the  diverging  paths  from  which  formed  around  us  numerous 
arcades  of  foliage,  under  which  we  were  sheltered  from  the  heat 
all  the  middle  of  the  day  ;  but  when  the  sun  descended  towards 
the  horizon,  its  rays,  broken  by  the  trunks  of  the  trees,  darted 
amongst  the  shadows  of  the  forest  in  long  lines  of  light,  pro- 
ducing the  most  magnificent  effect.  Sometimes  its  broad  disk 
appeared  at  the  end  of  an  avenue,  lighting  it  up  with  insuffer- 
able brightness.  The  foliage  of  the  trees,  illuminated  from  be- 
neath by  its  saffron  beams,  glowed  with  the  lustre  of  the  topaz 
and  the  emerald.  Their  brown  and  mossy  trunks  appeared 
transformed  into  columns  of  antique  bronze ;  and  the  birds, 
which  had  retired  in  silence  to  their  leafy  shades  to  pass  the 
night,  surprised  to  see  the  radiance  of  the  second  morning, 
hailed  the  star  of  day  all  together  with  innumerable  carols. 

Night  often  overtook  us  during  these  rural  entertainments  ; 
but  the  purity  of  the  air  and  the  warmth  of  the  climate,  ad- 
mitted of  our  sleeping  in  the  woods,  without  incurring  any  dan- 
ger by  exposure  to  the  weather,  and  no  less  secure  from  the 
molestation  of  robbers.  On  our  return  the  following  day  to  our 
respective  habitations,  we  found  them  in  exactly  the  same  state 
in  which  they  had  been  left.  In  this  island,  then  unsophisti- 
cated by  the  pursuits  of  commerce,  such  were  the  honesty  and 
primitive  manners  of  the  population,  that  the  doors  of  many 
houses  were  without  a  key,  and  even  a  lock  itself  was  an 
object  of  curiosity  to  not  a  few  of  the  native  inhabitants. 

There  were,  however,  some  days  in  the  years  celebrated  by 
Paul  and  Virginia  in  a  more  peculiar  manner;  these  were  the 
birth-days  of  their  mothers.  Virginia  never  failed  the  day 
before  to  prepare  some  wheaten  cakes,  which  she  distributed 
among  a  few  poor  white  families,  born  in  the  island,  who  had 
nevtr  eaten  European  bread.  These  unfortunate  people,  un- 
cared  for  by  the  blacks,  were  reduced  to  live  on  tapioca  in  the 
woods  ;  and  as  they  had  neither  the  insensibility  which  is  the 
result  of  slavery,  nor  the  fortitude  which  springs  from  a  liberal 
education,  to  enable  them  to  support  their  poverty,  their  situa- 
tion was  deplorable.  These  cakes  were  all  that  Virginia  had  it 
in  her  power  to  give  away,  but  she  conferred  the  gift  in  so 
delicate  a  manner  as  to  add  tenfold  to  its  value.  In  the  first 
place,  Paul  was  commissioned  to  take  the  cakes  himself  to  these 
families,  and  get  their  promise  to  come  and  spend  the  next  day 
at  Madame  de  la  Tour's.  Accordingly,  mothers  of  families, 
with  two  or  three  thin,- yellow,  miserable  looking  daughters,  so 


48  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA . 

timid  that  they  dared  not  look  up,  made  their  appearance. 
Virginia  soon  put  them  at  their  ease  ;  she  waited  upon  them 
with  refreshments,  the  excellence  of  which  she  endeavored  to 
heighten  by  relating  some  particular  circumstance  which  in  her 
own  estimation,  vastly  improved  them.  One  beverage  had 
been  prepared  by  Margaret ;  another,  by  her  mother :  her 
brother  himself  had  climbed  some  lofty  tree  for  the  very  fruit  she 
was  presenting.  She  would  then  get  Paul  to  dance  with  them, 
nor  would  she  leave  them  till  she  saw  that  they  were  happy. 
She  wished  them  to  partake  of  the  joy  of  her  own  family.  "  It 
is  only,"  she  said,  "  by  promoting  the  happiness  of  others,  that 
we  can  secure  our  own."  When  they  left,  she  generally  pre- 
sented them  with  some  little  article  they  seemed  to  fancy,  en- 
forcing their  acceptance  of  it  by  some  delicate  pretext,  that  she 
might  not  appear  to  know  they  were  in  want.  If  she  remarked 
that. their  clothes  were  much  tattered,  she  obtained  her  mo- 
ther's permission  to  give  them  some  of  her  own,  and  then  sent 
Paul  to  leave  them  secretly  at  their  cottage  doors.  She  thus 
followed  the  divine  precept, — concealing  the  benefactor,  and 
revealing  only  the  benefit 

Your  Europeans,  whose  minds  are  imbued  from  infancy  with 
prejudices  at  variance  with  happiness,  cannot  imagine  all  the 
instruction  and  pleasure  to  be  derived  from  nature.  Your  souls, 
confined  to  a  small  sphere  of  intelligence,  soon  reach  the  limit 
of  its  artificial  enjoyments :  but  nature  and  the  heart  are  inex- 
haustible. Paul  and  Virginia  had  neither  clock,  nor  almanack, 
nor  books  of  chronology,  history  or  philosophy.  The  periods 
of  their  lives  were  regulated  by  those  of  the  operations  of  nature, 
and  their  familiar  conversation  had  a  reference  to  the  changes 
of  the  seasons.  They  knew  the  time  of  day  by  the  shadows  of 
the  trees ;  the  seasons,  by  the  times  when  those  trees  bore 
flowers  or  fruit ;  and  the  years,  by  the  number  of  their  harvests. 
These  soothing  images  diffused  an  inexpressible  charm  over 
their  conversation.  "  It  is  time  to  dine,"  said  Virginia,  "  the 
shadows  of  the  plantain-trees  are  at  their  roots  :  "  or,  "  Night 
approaches,  the  tamarinds  are  closing  their  leaves."  "  When 
will  you  come  and  see  us  ? "  inquired  some  of  her  companions 
in  the  neighborhood.  "At  the  time  of  the  sugar-canes,"  an- 
swered Virginia.  "  Your  visit  will  be  then  still  more  delight- 
ful," resumed  her  young  acquaintances.  When  she  was  asked 
what  was  her  own  age  and  that  of  Paul, — "  My  brother,"  said 
she,  "  is  as  old  as  the  great  cocoa-tree  of  the  fountain  ;  and  I  am 
as  old  as  the  little  one :  the  mangoes  have  bore  fruit  twelve  times, 
and  the  orange-trees  have  flowered  four-and-twenty  times,  since  I 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


49 


came  into  the  world."  Their  lives  seemed  linked  to  that  of  the 
trees,  like  those  of  Fauns  or  Dryads.  They  knew  no  other  his- 
torical epochs  than  those  of  the  lives  of  their  mothers,  no  other 
chronology  than  that  of  their  orchards,  and  no  other  philosophy 
than  that  of  doing  good,  and  resigning  themselves  to  the  will  of 
Heaven. 

What  need,  indeed,  had  these  young  people  of  riches  or 
learning  such  as  ours  ?  Even  their  necessities  and  their  ignor- 
ance increased  their  happiness.  No  day  passed  in  which  they 
were  not  of  some  service  to  one  another,  or  in  which  they  did 
not  mutually  impart  some  instruction.  Yes,  instruction  ;  for  if 
errors  mingled  with  it,  they  were,  at  least,  not  of  a  dangerous 
character.  A  pure-minded  being  has  none  of  that  description 
to  fear.  Thus  grew  these  children  of  nature.  No  care  had 
troubled  their  peace,  no  intemperance  had  corrupted  their 
blood,  no  misplaced  passion  had  depraved  their  hearts.  Love, 
innocence,  and  piety,  possessed  their  souls  ;  and  those  intel- 
lectual graces  were  unfolding  daily  in  their  features,  their  atti- 
tudes, and  their  movements.  Still  in  the  morning  of  life,  they 
had  all  its  blooming  freshness  :  and  surely  such  in  the  garden 
of  Eden  appeared  our  first  parents,  when  coming  from  the 
hands  of  God,  they  first  saw,  and  approached  each  other,  and 
conversed  together,  like  brother  and  sister.  Virginia  was 
gentle,  modest,  and  confiding  as  Eve  ;  and  Paul,  like  Adam, 
united  the  stature  of  manhood  with  the  simplicity  of  a  child. 

Sometimes,  if  alone  with  Virginia,  he  has  a  thousand  times 
told  me,  he  used  to  say  to  her,  on  his  return  from  labor, — 
"  When  I  am  wearied,  the  sight  of  you  refreshes  me.     If  from 
the  summit  of  the  mountain  I  perceive  you  below  in  the  valley, 
you  appear  to  me  in  the  midst  of  our  orchard  like  a  blooming 
rose-bud.     If  you  go  towards  our  mother's  house,  the  partridge, 
when  it  runs  to  meet  its  young,  has  a  shape  less  beautiful,,  and 
a  step  less  light.     When  I  lose  sight  of  you  through  the  trees, 
1  have  no  need  to  see  you  in  order  to  find  you  again.     Some- 
thing of  you,  I  know  not  how,  remains  for  me  in  the  air  through 
which  you  have  passed,  on  the  grass  whereon  you  have  been 
seated.     When  I  come  near  you,  you  delight  all  my  senses. 
The  azure  of  the  sky  is  less  charming  than  the  blue  of  your 
eyes,  and  the  song  of  the  amadavid  bird  less  soft  than  the 
sound  of  your  voice.     If  I  only  touch  you  with  the  tip  of  my 
finger,  my  whole  frame  trembles  with  pleasure.     Do  you  re- 
member the  day  when  we  crossed  over  the  great  stones  of  the 
iver   of  the   Three  Breasts?      I   was  very   tired   before   we 
reached  the  bank :  but  as  soon  as  I  had  taken  you  in  my  arms, 


50  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

I  seemed  to  have  wings  like  a  bird.  Tell  me  by  what  charm 
you  have  thus  enchanted  me  ?  Is  it  by  your  wisdom  ? — Our 
mothers  have  more  than  either  of  us.  Is  it  by  your  caresses  ? 
— They  embrace  me  much  oftener  than  you.  I  think  it  must 
be  by  your  goodness.  I  shall  never  forget  how  you  walked 
bare-footed  to  the  Black  River,  to  ask  pardon  for  the  poor 
runaway  slave.  Here,  my  beloved,  take  this  flowering  branch 
of  a  lemon-tree,  which  I  have  gathered  in  the  forest :  you  will 
let  it  remain  at  night  near  your  bed.  Eat  this  honey-comb  too, 
which  I  have  taken  for  you  from  the  top  of  a  rock.  But  first 
lean  on  my  bosom,  and  I  shall  be  refreshed." 

Virginia  would  answer  him, — "  Oh,  my  dear  brother,the  rays 
of  the  sun  in  the  morning  on  the  tops  of  the  rocks  give  me  less 
joy  than  the  sight  of  you.  I  love  my  mother, — I  love  yours  ; 
but  when  they  call  you  their  son,  I  love  them  a  thousand  times 
more.  When  they  caress  you,  I  feel  it  more  sensibly  than 
when  I  am  caressed  myself.  You  ask  me  what  makes  you 
love  me.  Why,  all  creatures  that  are  brought  up  together  love 
one  another.  Look  at  our  birds  ;  reared  up  in  the  same  nests, 
they  love  each  other  as  we  do  ;  they  are  always  together  like 
us.  Hark  !  how  they  call  and  answer  from  one  tree  to  another. 
So  when  the  echoes  bring  to  my  ears  the  air  which  you  play 
on  your  flute  on  the  top  of  the  mountain,  I  repeat  the  words  at 
the  bottom  of  the  valley.  You  are  dear  to  me  more  especially 
since  the  day  when  you  wanted  to  fight  the  master  of  the  slave 
for  me.  Since  that  time  how  often  have  I  said  to  myself,  '  Ah, 
my  brother  has  a  good  heart ;  but  for  him,  I  should  have  died 
of  terror.'  I  pray  to  God  every  day  for  my  mother  and  for 
yours,  and  for  our  poor  servants  ;  but  when  I  pronounce  your 
name,  my  devotion  seems  to  increase ; — I  ask  so  earnestly  of 
God  that  no  harm  may  befall  you  !  Why  do  you  go  so  far,  and 
climb  so  high,  to  seek  fruits  and  flowers  for  me  ?  Have  we 
not  enough  in  our  garden  already  ?  How  much  you  are  fa- 
tigued,— you  look  so  warm  !  " — and  with  her  little  white  hand- 
kerchief she  would  wipe  the  damps  from  his  face,  and  then  im- 
print a  tender  kiss  on  his  forehead. 

For  some  time  past,  however,  Virginia  had  felt  her  heart 
agitated  by  new  sensations.  Her  beautiful  blue  eyes  lost  their 
lustre,  her  cheek  its  freshness,  and  her  frame  was  overpowered 
with  a  universal  languor.  Serenity  no  longer  sat  upon  her  brow, 
nor  smiles  played  upon  her  lips.  She  would  become  all  at 
once  gay  without  cause  for  joy,  and  melancholy  without  any 
subject  for  grief.  She  fled  her  innocent  amusements,  her  gen- 
tle toils,  and  even  the  society  of  her  beloved  family ;  wander* 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  5j 

ing  about  the  most  unfrequented  parts  of  the  plantations,  and 
seeking  everywhere  the  rest  which  she  could  nowhere  find. 
Sometimes,  at  the  sight  of  Paul,  she  advanced  sportively  to 
meet  him  ;  but,  when  about  to  accost  him,  was  overcome  by 
a  sudden  confusion ;  her  pale  cheeks  were  covered  with 
blushes,  and  her  eyes  no  longer  dared  to  meet  those  of  her 
brother.  Paul  said  to  her, — "  The  rocks  are  covered  with 
verdure,  our  birds  begin  to  sing  when  you  approach,  every- 
thing around  you  is  gay,  and  you  only  are  unhappy."  He  then 
endeavored  to  soothe  her  by  his  embraces,  but  she  turned 
away  her  head,  and  fled,  trembling  towards  her  mother.  The 
caresses  of  her  brother  excited  too  much  emotion  in  her  agi- 
tated heart,  and  she  sought,  in  the  arms  of  her  mother,  refuge 
from  herself.  Paul,  unused  to  the  secret  windings  of  the 
female  heart,  vexed  himself  in  vain  in  endeavoring  to  compre- 
hend the  meaning  of  these  new  and  strange  caprices.  Mis- 
fortunes seldom  come  alone,  and  a  serious  calamity  now  im- 
pended over  these  families. 

One  of  those  summers,  which  sometimes  desolate  the  coun- 
tries situated  between  the  tropics,  now  began  to  spread  it? 
ravages  over  this  island.  It  was  near  the  end  of  December, 
when  the  sun,  in  Capricorn,  darts  over  the  Mauritius,  during 
the  space  of  three  weeks,  its  vertical  fires.  The  south-east 
wind,  which  prevails  throughout  almost  the  whole  year,  no 
longer  blew.  Vast  columns  of  dust  arose  from  the  highways, 
and  hung  suspended  in  the  air  ;  the  ground  was  everywhere 
broken  into  clefts ;  the  grass  was  burnt  up ;  hot  exhalations 
issued  from  the  sides  of  the  mountains,  and  their  rivulets,  for  the 
most  part,  became  dry.  No  refreshing  cloud  ever  arose  from 
the  sea  :  fiery  vapors,  only,  during  the  day,  ascended  from  the 
plains,  and  appeared,  at  sunset,  like  the  reflection  of  a  vast 
conflagration.  Night  brought  no  coolness  to  the  heated  at- 
mosphere ;  and  the  red  moon  rising  in  the  misty  horizon,  ap- 
peared of  supernatural  magnitude.  The  drooping  cattle,  on 
the  sides  of  the  hills,  stretching  out  their  necks  towards  heaven, 
and  panting  for  breath,  made  the  valleys  re-echo  with  their 
melancholy  lowings  :  even  the  Caffre  by  whom  they  were  led 
threw  himself  upon  the  earth,  in  search  of  some  cooling  mois- 
ture :  but  his  hopes  were  vain ;  the  scorching  sun  had  pene- 
trated the  whole  soil,  and,  the  stifling  atmosphere  everywhere 
resounded  with  the  buzzing  noise  of  insects,  seeking  to  allay 
their  thirst  with  the  blood  of  men  and  of  animals. 

During  this  sultry  season,  Virginia's  restlessness  and  dis- 
quietude were  much  increased.  One  night,  in  particular,  being 


52 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


unable  to  sleep,  she  arose  from  her  bed,  sat  down,  and  returned 
to  rest  again  ;  but  could  find  in  no  attitude  either  slumber  or 
repose.  At  length  she  bent  her  way,  by  the  light  of  the  moon, 
towards  her  fountain,  and  gazed  at  its  spring,  which,  notwith- 
standing the  drought,  still  trickled,  in  silver  threads  down  the 
brown  sides  of  the  rock.  She  flung  herself  into  the  basin  :  its 
coolness  reanimated  her  spirits,  and  a  thousand  soothing  re- 
membrances came  to  her  mind.  She  recollected  that  in  her  in- 
fancy her  mother  and  Margaret  had  amused  themselves  by  bath- 
ing her  with  Paul  in  this  very  spot ;  that  he  afterwards,  reserv- 
ing this  bath  for  her  sole  use,  had  hallowed  out  its  bed,  covered 
the  bottom  with  sand,  and  sown  aromatic  herbs  around  its 
borders.  She  saw  in  the  water,  upon  her  naked  arms  and 
bosom,  the  reflection  of  the  two  cocoa  trees  which  were  planted 
at  her  own  and  her  brother's  birth,  and  which  interwove  above 
her  head  their  green  branches  and  young  fruit.  She  thought 
of  Paul's  friendship,  sweeter  than  the  odor  of  the  blossoms, 
purer  than  the  waters  of  the  fountain,  stronger  than  the  inter- 
twining palm-tree,  and  she  sighed.  Reflecting  on  the  hour  of 
the  night,  and  the  profound  solitude,  her  imagination  became 
disturbed.  Suddenly  she  flew,  affrighted,  from  those  dangerous 
shades,  and  those  waters  which  seemed  to  her  hotter  than  the 
tropical  sunbeam,  and  ran  to  her  mother  for  refuge.  More 
than  once,  wishing  to  reveal  her  sufferings,  she  pressed  her 
mother's  hand  within  her  own  ;  more  than  once  she  was  ready 
to  pronounce  the  name  of  Paul :  but  her  oppressed  heart  left 
her  lips  no  power  of  utterance,  and,  leaning  her  head  on  her 
mother's  bosom,  she  bathed  it  with  her  tears. 

Madame  de  la  Tour,  though  she  easily  discerned  the  source 
of  her  daughter's  uneasiness,  did  not  think  proper  to  speak  to 
her  on  the  subject.  "  My  dear  child,"  said  she,  "  offer  up  you* 
supplications  to  God,  who  disposes  at  his  will  of  health  and  of 
life.  He  subjects  you  to  trial  now,  in  order  to  recompense  you 
hereafter.  Remember  that  we  are  only  placed  upon  earth  for 
the  exercise  of  virtue." 

The  excessive  heat  in  the  mean  time  raised  vast  masses  of 
vapor  from  the  ocean,  which  hung  over  the  island  like  an  im- 
mense parasol,  and  gathered  round  the  summits  of  the  moun- 
tains. Long  flakes  of  fire  issued  from  time  to  time  from  these 
mist-embosomed  peaks.  The  most  awful  thunder  soon  after 
re-echoed  through  the  woods,  the  plains,  and  the  valleys  ;  the 
rains  fell  from  the  skies  in  cataracts  ;  foaming  torrents  rushed 
down  the  sides  of  this  mountain  ;  the  bottom  of  the  valley  be- 
came a  sea,  and  the  elevated  platform  .on  which  the  cottages 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


S3 


were  built,  a  little  island.  The  accumulated  waters,  having  no 
other  outlet,  rushed  with  violence  through  the  narrow  gorge 
which  leads  into  the  valley,  tossing  and  roaring,  and  bearing 
along  with  them  a  mingled  wreck  of  soil,  trees,  and  rocks. 

The  trembling  families  meantime  addressed  their  prayers  to 
God  all  together  in  the  cottage  of  Madame  de  la  Tour,  the  roof  of 
which  cracked  fearfully  from  the  force  of  the  winds.  So  inces- 
sant and  vivid  were  the  lightnings,  that  although  the  doors  and 
window-shutters  were  securely  fastened,  every  object  without 
could  be  distinctly  seen  through  the  joints  in  the  wood-work  ! 
Paul,  followed  by  Domingo,  went  with  intrepidity  from  one  cot- 
tage to  another,  notwithstanding  the  fury  of  the  tempest  j  here 
supporting  a  partition  with  a  buttress,  there  driving  in  a  stake  ; 
and  only  returning  to  the  family  to  calm  their  fears,  by  the  ex- 
pression of  a  hope  that  the  storm  was  passing  away.  Accord- 
ingly, in  the  evening  the  rains  ceased,  the  trade-winds  of  the 
south-east  pursued  their  ordinary  course,  the  tempestuous  clouds 
were  driven  away  to  the  northward,  and  the  setting  sun  appeared 
in  the  horizon. 

Virginia's  first  wish  was  to  visit  the  spot  called  her  Resting- 
place.  Paul  approached  her  with  a  timid  air,  and  offered  her 
the  assistance  of  his  arm ;  she  accepted  it  with  a  smile,  and 
they  left  the  cottage  together.  The  air  was  clear  and  fresh : 
white  vapors  arose  from  the  ridges  of  the  mountain,  which  was 
furrowed  here  and  there  by  the  courses  of  torrents,  marked  in 
foam,  and  now  beginning  to  dry  up  on  all  sides.  As  for  the 
garden,  it  was  completely  torn  to  pieces  by  deep  water-courses, 
the  roots  of  most  of  the  fruit  trees  were  laid  bare,  and  vast 
heaps  of  sand  covered  the  borders  of  the  meadows,  and  had 
choked  up  Virginia's  bath.  The  two  cocoa  trees,  however, 
were  still  erect,  and  still  retained  their  freshness  ;  but  they  were 
no  longer  surrounded  by  turf,  or  arbors,  or  birds,  except  a  few 
amadavid  birds,  which,  upon  the  points  of  the  neighboring 
rocks,  were  lamenting,  in  plaintive  notes,  the  loss  of  their 
young. 

At  the  sight  of  this  general  desolation,  Virginia  exclaimed 
to  Paul, — "  You  brought  birds  hither,  and  the  hurricane  has 
killed  them.  You  planted  this  garden,  and  it  is  now  destroyed. 
Everything  then  upon  earth  perishes,  and  it  is  only  Heaven 
that  is  not  subject  to  change." — "  Why,"  answered  Paul,  "can- 
not I  give  you  something  that  belongs  to  Heaven  ?  but  I  have 
nothing  of  my  own  even  upon  the  earth."  Virginia  with  a 
blush  replied,  "  You  have  the  picture  of  St.  Paul."  As  soon 
as  she  had  uttered  the  words,  he  flew  in  quest  of  it  to  his 


54 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


mother's  cottage.  This  picture  was  a  miniature  of  Paul  the 
Hermit,  which  Margaret,  who  viewed  it  with  feelings  of  great 
devotion,  had  worn  at  her  neck  while  a  girl,  and  which,  after 
she  became  a  mother,  she  had  placed  round  her  child's.  It  had 
even  happened,  that  being,  while  pregnant,  abandoned  by  all 
the  world,  and  constantly  occupied  in  contemplating  the  image 
of  this  benevolent  recluse,  her  offspring  had  contracted  some 
resemblance  to  this  revered  object.  She  therefore  bestowed 
upon  him  the  name  of  Paul,  giving  him  for  his  patron  a  saint 
who  had  passed  his  life  far  from  mankind  by  whom  he  had  been 
first  deceived  and  then  forsaken.  Virginia,  on  receiving  this 
little  present  from  the  hands  of  Paul,  said  to  him,  with  emo- 
tion, "  My  dear  brother,  I  will  never  part  with  this  while  I  live ; 
nor  will  I  ever  forget  that  you  have  given  me  the  only  thing 
you  have  in  this  world."  At  this  tone  of  friendship, — this  un- 
hoped for  return  of  familiarity  and  tenderness,  Paul  attempted 
to  embrace  her ;  but,  light  as  a  bird,  she  escaped  him,  and  fled 
away,  leaving  him  astonished,  and  unable  to  account  for  con- 
duct so  extraordinary. 

Meanwhile  Margaret  said  to  Madame  de  la  Tour,  "  Why 
do  we  not  unite  our  children  by  marriage  ?  They  have  a  strong 
attachment  for  each  other,  and  though  my  son  hardly  under- 
stands the  real  nature  of  his  feelings,  yet  great  care  and  watch- 
fulness will  be  necessary.  Under  such  circumstances,  it  will 
be  as  well  not  to  leave  them  too  much  together."  Madame  de 
la  Tour  replied,  "  They  are  too  young,  and  too  poor.  What 
grief  would  it  occasion  us,  to  see  Virginia  bring  into  the  world 
unfortunate  children,  whom  she  would  not  perhaps  have  suffi- 
cient strength  to  rear  !  Your  negro,  Domingo,  is  almost  too  old 
to  labor ;  Mary  is  infirm.  As  for  myself,  my  dear  friend,  at 
the  end  of  fifteen  years,  I  find  my  strength  greatly  decreased  ; 
the  feebleness  of  age  advances  rapidly  in  hot  climates,  and, 
above  all,  under  the  pressure  of  misfortune.  Paul  is  our  only 
hope :  let  us  wait  till  he  comes  to  maturity,  and  his  increased 
strength  enables  him  to  support  us  by  his  labor  ;  at  present 
you  well  know  that  we  have  only  sufficient  to  supply  the  wants 
of  the  day  :  but  were  we  to  send  Paul  for  a  short  time  to  the 
Indies,  he  might  acquire,  by  commerce,  the  means  of  purchas- 
ing some  slaves ;  and  at  his  return  we  could  unite  him  to  Vir- 
ginia ;  for  I  am  persuaded  no  one  on  earth  would  render  her 
so  happy  as  your  son.  We  will  consult  our  neighbor  on  this 
subject." 

They  accordingly  asked  my  advice,  which  was  in  accordance 
with  Madame  de  la  Tour's  opinion.  "  The  Indian  seas,"  I  ob- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


55 


served  to  them,  "  are  calm,  and,  in  choosing  a  favorable  time 
of  the  year,  the  voyage  out  is  seldom  longer  than  six  weeks  ; 
and  the  same  time  may  be  allowed  for  the  return  home.  We 
will  furnish  Paul  with  a  little  venture  from  my  neighborhood, 
where  he  is  much  beloved.  If  we  were  only  to  supply  him  with 
some  raw  cotton,  of  which  we  make  no  use  for  want  of  mills  to 
work  it,  some  ebony,  which  is  here  so  common  that  it  serves  us 
for  firing,  and  some  rosin,  which  is  found  in  our  woods,  he 
would  be  able  to  sell  those  articles,  though  useless  here,  to 
good  advantage  in  the  Indies." 

I  took  upon  myself  to  obtain  permission  from  Monsieur  de 
la  Bourdonnais  to  undertake  this  voyage  ;  and  I  determined 
previously  to  mention  the  affair  to  Paul.  But  what  was  my 
surprise,  when  this  young  man  said  to  me,  with  a  degree  of 
good  sense  above  his  age,  "  And  why  do  you  wish  me  to  leave 
my  family  for  this  precarious  pursuit  of  fortune  ?  Is  there 
any  commerce  in  the  world  more  advantageous  than  the  culture 
of  the  ground,  which  yields  sometimes  fifty  or  a  hundred-fold  ? 
If  we  wish  to  engage  in  commer.ce,  can  we  not  do  so  by  carry- 
ing our  superfluities  to  the  town  without  my  wandering  to  the 
Indies  ?  Our  mothers  tell  me,  that  Domingo  is  old  and  feeble  ; 
but  I  am  young,  and  gather  strength  every  day.  If  any  acci- 
dent should  happen  during  my  absence,  above  all  to  Virginia, 
who  already  suffers — Oh,  no,  no  ! — I  cannot  resolve  to  leave 
them." 

So  decided  an  answer  threw  me  into  great  perplexity,  for 
Madame  de  la  Tour  had  not  concealed  from  me  the  cause  of 
Virginia's  illness  and  want  of  spirits,  and  her  desire  of  separat- 
ing these  young  people  till  they  were  a  few  years  older.  I  took 
care,  however,  not  to  drop  anything  which  could  lead  Paul  to 
suspect  the  existence  of  these  motives. 

About  this  period  a  ship  from  France  brought  Madame  de 
la  Tour  a  letter  from  her  aunt.  The  fear  of  death,  without 
which  hearts  as  insensible  as  her's  would  never  feel,  had 
alarmed  her  into  compassion.  When  she  wrote  she  was  recov- 
ering from  a  dangerous  illness,  which  had,  however,  left  her 
incurably  languid  and  weak.  She  desired  her  niece  to  return 
to  France  :  or,  if  her  health  forbade  her  to  undertake  so  long  a 
voyage,  she  begged  her  to  send  Virginia,  on  whom  she  promised 
to  bestow  a  good  education,  to  procure  for  her  a  splendid  mar- 
riage and  to  leave  her  heiress  of  her  whole  fortune.  She  con- 
cluded by  enjoining  strict  obedience  to  her  will,  in  gratitude, 
she  said,  for  her  great  kindness. 

At  the  perusal  of  this  letter  general  consternation  spread 


56  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

itself  through  the  whole  assembled  party,  Domingo  and  Mary 
began  to  weep.  Paul,  motionless  with  surprise,  appeared  al- 
most ready  to  burst  with  indignation ;  while  Virginia,  fixing 
her  eyes  anxiously  upon  her  mother,  had  not  power  to  utter  a 
single  word.  "  And  can  you  now  leave  us"?  "  cried  Margaret 
to  Madame  de  la  Tour.  "  No,  'my  dear  friend,  no,  my  beloved 
children,"  replied  Madame  de  la  Tour ;  "  I  will  never  leave 
you.  I  have  lived  with  you,  and  with  you  I  will  die.  I  have 
known  no  happiness  but  in  your  affection.  If  my  health  be 
deranged,  my  past  misfortunes  are  the  cause.  My  heart  has 
been  deeply  wounded  by  the  cruelty  of  my  relations,  and  by 
the  loss  of  my  beloved  husband.  But  I  have  since  found  more 
consolation  and  more  real  happiness  with  you  in  these  humble 
huts,  than  all  the  wealth  of  my  family  could  now  lead  me  to 
expect  in  my  own  country." 

At  this  soothing  language  every  eye  overflowed  with  tears 
of  delight.  Paul,  pressing  Madame  de  la  Tour  in  his  arms, 
exclaimed, — "  Neither  will  I  leave  you  !  I  will  not  go  to  the 
Indies.  We  will  all  labor  for  you,  dear  mamma ;  and  you 
shall  never  feel  any  want  with  us."  But  of  the  whole  society, 
the  person  who  displayed  the  least  transport,  and  who  probably 
felt  the  most,  was  Virginia :  and  during  the  remainder  of  the 
day,  the  gentle  gayety  which  flowed  from  her  heart,  and  proved 
that  her  peace  of  mind  was  restored,  completed  the  general 
satisfaction. 

At  sunrise  the  next  day,  just  as  they  had  concluded  offering 
up,  as  usual,  their  morning  prayer  before  breakfast,  Domingo 
came  to  inform  them  that  a  gentleman  on  horseback,  followed 
by  two  slaves,  was  coming  towards  the  plantation.  It  was 
Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais.  He  entered  the  cottage,  where 
he  found  the  family  at  breakfast.  Virginia  had  prepared, 
according  to  the  custom  of  the  country,  coffee,  and  rice  boiled 
in  water.  To  these  she  had  added  hot  yams,  and  fresh  plan- 
tains. The  leaves  of  the  plantain-tree  supplied  the  want  of 
table.-linen  ;  and  calabash  shells,  split  in  two,  served  for  cups. 
The  governor  exhibited,  at  first,  some  astonishment  at  the 
homeliness  of  the  dwelling ;  then,  addressing  himself  to  Ma- 
dame de  la  Tour,  he  observed,  that  although  public  affairs 
drew  his  attention  too  much  from  the  concerns  of  individuals, 
she  had  many  claims  on  his  good  offices.  "  You  have  an  aunt 
at  Paris,  madam,"  he  added,  "  a  women  of  quality,  and  im- 
mensely rich,  who  expects  that  you  will  hasten  to  see  her,  and 
who  means  to  bestow  upon  you  her  whole  fortune."  Madame 
4e  la  Tour  replied,  that  the  state  of  her.  health  would  not  per- 


PAUL  AN&  VIRGINIA.  57 

mit  her  to  undertake  so  long  a  voyage.  "At  least,"  resumed 
Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais,  "  you  cannot  without  injustice, 
deprive  this  amiable  young  lady,  your  daughter,  of  so  noble  an 
inheritance.  I  will  not  conceal  from  you,  that  your  aunt  has 
made  use  of  her  influence  to  secure  your  daughter  being  sent  to 
her  ;  and  that  I  have  received  official  letters,  in  which  I  am 
ordered  to  exert  my  authority,  if  necessary,  to  that  effect.  But 
as  I  only  wish  to  employ  my  power  for  the  purpose  of  rendering 
the  inhabitants  of  this  country  happy,  I  expect  from  your  good 
sense  the  voluntary  sacrifice  of  a  few  years,  upon  which  your 
daughter's  establishment  in  the  world,  and  the  welfare  of  youi 
whole  life  depends.  Wherefore  do  we  come  to  these  islands  ? 
Is  it  not  to  acquire  a  fortune  ?  And  will  it  not  be  more 
agreeable  to  return  and  find  it  in  your  own  country  ?  " 

He  then  took  a  large  bag  of  piastres  from  one  of  his  slaves, 
and  placed  it  upon  the  table.  "This  sum,"  he  continued,  "  is 
allotted  by  your  aunt  to  defray  the  outlay  necessary  for  the 
equipment  of  the  young  lady  for  her  voyage."  Gently  re- 
proaching Madame  de  la  Tour  for  not  having  had  recourse  to 
him  in  her  difficulties,  he  extolled  at  the  same  time  her  noble 
fortitude.  Upon  this  Paul  said  to  the  governor, — "  My  mother 
did  apply  to  you,  Sir,  and  you  received  her  ill." — "  Have  you 
another  child,  madam  ?  "  said  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais  to 
Madame  de  la  Tour.  "  No,  Sir,"  she  replied  ;  "  this  is  the 
son  of  my  friend  ;  but  he  and  Virginia  are  equally  dear  to  us, 
and  we  mutually  consider  them  both  as  our  own  children." 
"  Young  man,"  said  the  governor  to  Paul,  "  when  you  have 
acquired  a  little  more  experience  of  the  world,  you  will  know 
that  it  is  the  misfortune  of  people  in  place  to  be  deceived,  and 
bestow,  in  consequence,  upon  intriguing  vice,  that  which  they 
would  wish  to  give  to  modest  merit." 

Mousieur  de  la  Bourdonnais,  at  the  request  of  Madame  de 
la  Tour,  placed  himself  next  to  her  at  table,  and  breakfasted  after 
the  manner  of  the  Creoles,  upon  coffee,  mixed  with  rice  boiled 
in  water.  He  was  delighted  with  the  order  and  cleanliness 
which  prevailed  in  the  little  cottage,  the  harmony  of  the  two 
interesting  families,  and  the  zeal  of  their  old  servants.  "  Here," 
he  exclaimed,  "  I  discern  only  wooden  furniture  :  but  I  find 
serene  countenances  and  hearts  of  gold."  Paul,  enchanted 
with  the  affability  of  the  governor,  said  to.him, — "  I  wish  to  be 
your  friend :  for  you  are  a  good  man."  Monsieur  de  la 
Bourdonnais  received  with  pleasure  this  insular  compliment, 
and,  taking  Paul  by  the  hand,  assured  him  he  might  rely  upon  his 
friendship. 


58  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

After  breakfast,  he  took  Madame  de  la  Tour  aside  and 
informed  her  that  an  opportunity  would  soon  offer  itself  of 
sending  her  daughter  to  France,  in  a  ship  which  was  going  to 
sail  in  a  short  time  ;  that  he  would  put  her  under  the  charge  of 
a  lady,  one  of  the  passengers,  who  was  a  relation  of  his  own  ; 
and  that  she  must  not  think  of  renouncing  an  immense  fortune, 
on  account  of  the  pain  of  being  separated  from  her  daughter 
for  a  brief  interval.  "  Your  aunt,"  he  added,  "  cannot  live  more 
than  two  years ;  of  this  I  am  assured  by  her  friends.  Think 
of  it  seriously.  Fortune  does  not  visit  us  every  day..  Consult 
your  friends.  I  am  sure  that  every  person  of  good  sense  will 
be  of  my  opinion."  She  answered,  "  that,  as  she  desired  no 
other  happiness  henceforth  in  tlHi  world  than  in  promoting  that 
of  her  daughter,  she  hoped  to  be  allowed  to  leave  her  departure 
for  France  entirely  to  her  own  inclination." 

Madame  de  la  Tour  was  not  sorry  to  find  an  opportunity  of 
separating  Paul  and  Virginia  for  a  short  time,  and  provide  by 
this  means,  for  their  mutual  felicity  at  a  future  period.  She 
took  her  daughter  aside,  and  said  to  her, — "  My  dear  child, 
our  servants  are  now  old.  Paul  is  still  very  young,  Margaret 
is  advanced  in  years,  and  I  am  already  infirm.  If  I  should 
die  what  would  become  of  you,  without  fortune,  in  the  midst  of 
these  deserts  ?  You  would  then  be  left  alone,  without  any 
person  who  could  afford  you  much  assistance,  and  would  be 
obliged  to  labor  without  ceasing,  as  a  hired  servant,  in  order 
to  support  your  wretched  existence.  This  idea  overcomes  me 
with  sorrow."  Virginia  answered, — "  God  has  appointed  us 
to  labor,  and  to  bless  him  every  day.  Up  to  this  time  he  has 
never  forsaken  us,  and  he  never  will  forsake  us  in  time  to 
come.  His  providence  watches  most  especially  over  the  un- 
fortunate. You  have  told  me  this  very  often,  my  dear  mother ! 
I  cannot  resolve  to  leave  you."  Madame  de  la  Tour  .replied, 
with  much  emotion, — "  I  have  no  other  aim  than  to  render  you 
happy,  and  to  marry  you  one  day  to  Paul,  who  is  not  really 
your  brother.  Remember  then  that  his  fortune  depends  upon 
you." 

A  young  girl  who  is  in  love  believes  that  every  one  else  is 
ignorant  of  her  passion  ;  she  throws  over  her  eyes  the  veil 
with  which  she  covers  the  feelings  of  her  heart ;  but  when  it  is 
once  lifted  by  a  friendly  hand,  the  hidden  sorrows  of  her  at- 
tachment escape  as  through  a  newly-opened  barrier,  and  the 
sweet  outpourings  of  unrestrained  confidence  succeed  to  her 
former  mystery  and  reserve.  Virginia,  deeply  affected  by  this 
new  proof  of  her  mother's  tenderness,  related  to  her  the  cruel 


PAUL  AND   VIRGINIA.  $g 

struggles  she  had  undergone,  of  which  heaven  alone  had  been 
witness  ;  she  saw,  she  said,  the  hand  of  Providence  in  the  as- 
sistance of  an  affectionate  mother,  who  approved  of  her  at- 
tachment ;  and  would  guide  her  by  her  counsels  ;  and  as  she 
was  now  strengthened  by  such  support,  every  consideration  led 
her  to  remain  with  her  mother,  without  anxiety  for  the  present, 
and  without  apprehension  for  the  future. 

Madame  de  la  Tour,  perceiving  that  this  confidential  con- 
versation had  produced  an  effect  altogether  different  from  that 
which  she  expected,  said, — "  My  dear  child,  I  do  not  wish  to 
constrain  you  ;  think  over  it  at  leisure,  but  conceal  your  affec- 
tion from  Paul.  It  is  better  not  to  let  a  man  know  that  the 
heart  of  his  mistress  is  gained." 

Virginia  and  her  mother  were  sitting  together  by  themselves 
the  same  evening,  when  a  tall  man,  dressed  in  a  blue  cossock, 
entered  their  cottage.  He  was  a  missionary  priest  and  the 
confessor  of  Madame  de  la  Tour  and  her  daughter,  who  had 
now  been  sent  them  by  the  governor.  "  My  children,"  he  ex- 
claimed as  he  entered,  "God  be  praised!  you  are  now  rich. 
You  can  now  attend  to  the  kind  suggestions  of  your  benevolent 
hearts,  and  do  good  to  the  poor.  J  know  what  Monsieur  de  la 
Bourdonnais  has  said  to  you,  and  what  you  have  said  in  reply. 
Your  health,  dear  madam,  obliges  you  to  remain  here ;  but 
you,  young  lady,  are  without  excuse.  We  must  obey  the  direc- 
tion of  Providence :  and  we  must  also  obey  our  aged  relations, 
even  when  they  are  unjust.  A  sacrifice  is  required  of  you ; 
but  it  is  the  will  of  God.  Our  Lord  devoted  himself  for  you  ; 
and  you  in  imitation  of  his  example,  must  give  up  something 
for  the  welfare  of  your  family.  Your  voyage  to  France  will 
end  happily.  You  will  surely  consent  to  go,  my  dear  young 
lady. 

Virginia,  with  downcast  eyes,  answered,  trembling,  "  If  it 
is  the  command  of  God,  I  will  not  presume  to  oppose  it.  Let 
the  will  of  God  be  done  !  "  As  she  uttered  these  words,  she 
wept. 

The  priest  went  away,  in  order  to  inform  the  governor  of 
the  success  of  his  mission.  In  the  meantime  Madame  de  la 
Tour  sent  Domingo  to  request  me  to  come  to  her,  that  she 
might  consult  me  respecting  Virginia's  departure.  I  was  not 
at  all  of  opinion  that  she  ought  to  go.  I  consider  it  as  a  fixed 
principle  of  happiness,  that  \ve  ought  to  prefer  the  advantages 
of  nature  to  those  of  fortune,  and  never  go  in  search  of  that 
at  a  distance,  which  we  may  find  at  home, — in  our  own  bosoms. 
But  what  could  be  expected  from  my  advice,  in  opposition  to 


60  .  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

the  illusions  of  a  splendid  fortune? — or  from  my  simple  reason- 
ing, when  in  competition  with  the  prejudices  of  the  world,  and 
an  authority  held  sacred  by  Madame  de  la  Tour?  This  lady 
indeed  had  only  consulted  me  out  of  politeness;  she  had 
ceased  to  deliberate  since  she  had  heard  the  decision  of  her 
confessor.  Margaret  herself,  who,  notwithstanding  the  advan- 
tages she  expected  for  her  son  from  the  possession  of  Virginia's 
fortune,  had  hitherto  opposed  her  departure,  made  no  further 
objections.  As  for  Paul,  in  ignorance  of  what  had  been  deter- 
mined, but  alarmed  at  the  secret  conversations  which  Virginia 
had  been  holding  with  her  mother,  he  abandoned  himself  to 
melancholy.  "  They  are  plotting  something  against  me,"  cried 
he,  "  for  they  conceal  everything  from  me." 

A  report  having  in  the  meantime  been  spread  in  the  island 
that  fortune  had  visited  these  rocks,  merchants  of  every  de- 
scription were  seen  climbing  their  steep  ascent.  Now,  for  the 
first  time,  were  seen  displayed  in  these  humble  huts  the  richest 
stuffs  of  India ;  the  fine  dimity  of  Gondelore  ;  the  handker- 
chiefs of  Pellicate  and  Masulipatan  ;  the  plain,  striped,  and 
embroidered  muslins  of  Dacca,  so  beautifully  transparent :  the 
delicately  white  cottons  of  Surat,  and  linens  of  all  colors. 
They  also  brought  with  them  the  gorgeous  silks  of  China, 
satin  damasks,  some  white,  and  others  grass-green  and  bright 
red;  pink  taffetas,  with  a  profusion  of  satins  and  gauze  of 
Tonquin,  both  plain  and  decorated  with  flowers  ;  soft  pekins, 
downy  as  cloth  ;  with  white  and  yellow  nankeens,  and  the  cali- 
coes of  Madagascar. 

Madame  de  la  Tour  wished  her  daughter  to  purchase 
whatever  she  liked;  she  only  examined  the  goods,  and  in- 
quired the  price,  to  take  care  that  the  dealers  did  not  cheat 
her.  Virginia  made  choice  of  everything  she  thought  would 
be  useful  or  agreeable  to  her  mother,  or  to  Margaret  and  her 
son.  "  This,"  said  she,  "  will  be  wanted  for  furnishing  the 
cottage,  and  that  will  be  very  useful  to  Mary  and  Domingo." 
In  short,  the  bag  of  piastres  was  almost  emptied  before  she 
even  began  to  consider  her  own  wants ;  and  she  was  obliged  to 
receive  back  for  her  own  use  a  share  of  the  presents  which  she 
had  distributed  among  the  family  circle. 

Paul,  overcome  with  sorrow  at  the  sight  of  these  gifts  of 
fortune,  which  he  felt  were  a  presage  of  Virginia's  departure, 
came  a  few  days  after  to  my  dwelling.  With  an  air  of  deep 
despondency  he  said  to  me, — "  My  sister  is  going  away ;  she  is 
already  making  preparations  for  her  voyage.  I  conjure  you  to 
come  and  exert  your  influence  over  her  mother  and  mine,  in 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  gt 

order  to  detain  her  here."  I  could  not  refuse  the  young  man's 
solicitations,  although  well  convinced  that  my  representations 
would  be  unavailing. 

Virginia  had  ever  appeared  to  me  charming  when  clad  in 
the  coarse  cloth  of  Bengal,  with  a  red  handkerchief  tied  around 
her  head :  you  may  therefore  imagine  how  much  her  beauty 
was  increased,  when  she  was  attired  in  the  graceful  and  elegant 
costume  worn  by  the  ladies  of  this  country  !  She  had  on  a 
white  muslin  dress,  lined  with  pink  taffeta.  Her  somewhat 
tall  and  slender  figure  was  shone  to  advantage  in  her  new 
attire,  and  the  simple  arrangement  of  her  hair  accorded  ad- 
mirably with  the  form  of  her  head.  Her  fine  blue  eyes  were 
filled  with  an  expression  of  melancholy  ;  and  the  struggles  of 
passion,  with  which  her  heart  was  agitated,  imparted  a  flush  to 
her  cheek,  and  to  her  voice  a  tone  of  deep  emotion.  The 
contrast  between  her  pensive  look  and  her  gay  habiliments 
rendered  her  more  interesting  then  ever,  nor  was  it  possible  to 
see  or  hear  her  unmoved.  Paul  became  more  and  more 
melancholy  ;  and  at  length  Margaret,  distressed  at  the  situa- 
tion of  her  son,  took  him  aside,  and  said  to  him, — "  Why,  my 
dear  child,  will  you  cherish  vain  hopes,  which  will  only  render 
your  disappointment  more  bitter  ?  It  is  time  for  me  to  make 
known  to  you  the  secret  of  your  life  and  of  mine.  Made- 
moiselle de  la  Tour  belongs,  by  her  mother's  side,  to  a  rich 
and  noble  family,  while  you  are  but  the  son  of  a  poor  peasant 
girl ;  and  what  is  worse  you  are  illegitimate." 

Paul,  who  had  never  heard  this  last  expression  before, 
inquired  with  eagerness  its  meaning.  His  mother  replied,  "I 
was  not  married  to  your  father.  When  I  was  a  girl,  seduced 
by  love,  I  was  guilty  of  a  weakness  of  which  you  are  the  off- 
spring. The  consequence  of  my  fault  is,  that  you  are  deprived 
of  the  protection  of  a  father's  family,  and  by  my  flight  from 
home  you  have  also  lost  that  of  your  mother's.  Unfortunate 
child  !  you  have  no  relation  in  the  world  but  me  !  " — and  she 
shed  a  flood  of  tears.  Paul,  pressing  her  in  his  arms,  ex- 
claimed, "  Oh,  my  dear  mother !  since  I  have  no  relation  in 
the  world  but  you,  I  will  love  you  all  the  more.  But  what  a 
secret  have  you  just  disclosed  to  me !  I  now  see  the  reason 
why  Mademoiselle  de  la  Tour  has  estranged  herself  so  much 
from  me  for  the  last  two  months,  and  why  she  has  determined 
to  go  to  France.  Ah  !  I  perceive  too  well  that  she  despises 
me!" 

The  hour  of  supper  being  arrived,  we  gathered  round  the 
table  ;  but  the  different  sensations  with  which  we  were  agitated 


Ga  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

left  us  little  inclination  to  eat,  and  the  meal,  if  such  it  may  be 
called,  passed  in  silence.  Virginia  was  the  first  to  rise  ;  she 
went  out,  and  seated  herself  on  the  very  spot  where  we  now 
are.  Paul  hastened  after  her,  and  sat  down  by  her  side.  Both 
of  them,  for  some  time,  kept  a  profound  silence.  It  was  one 
of  those  delicious  nights  which  are  so  common  between  the 
tropics,  and  to  the  beauty  of  which  no  pencil  can  do  justice. 
The  moon  appeared  in  the  midst  of  the  firmament,  surrounded 
by  a  curtain  of  clouds,  which  was  gradually  unfolded  by  her 
beams.  Her  light  insensibly  spread  itself  over  the  mountains 
of  the  island,  and  their  distant  peaks  glistened  with  a  silvery 
green.  The  winds  were  perfectly  still.  We  heard  among  the 
woods,  at  the  bottom  of  the  valleys,  and  on  the  summits  of  the 
rocks,  the  piping  cries  and  the  soft  notes  of  the  birds,  wan- 
toning in  their  nests,  and  rejoicing  in  the  brightness  of  the 
night  and  the  serenity  of  the  atmosphere.  The  hum  of  insects 
was  heard  in  the  grass.  The  stars  sparkled  in  the  heavens, 
and  their  lucid  orbs  were  reflected,  in  trembling  sparkles,  from 
the  tranquil  bosom  of  the  ocean.  Virginia's  eye  wandered 
distractedly  over  its  vast  and  gloomy  horizon,  distinguishable 
from  the  shore  of  the  island  only  by  the  red  fires  in  the  fish- 
ing boats.  She  perceived  at  the  entrance  of  the  harbor  a 
light  and  a  shadow  ;  these  were  the  watchlight  and  the  hull  of 
the  vessel  in  which  she  was  to  embark  for  Europe,  and  which, 
all  ready  for  sea,  lay  at  anchor,  waiting  for  a  breeze.  Affected 
at  this  sight,  she  turned  away  her  head,  in  order  to  hide  her 
tears  from  Paul. 

Madame  de  la  Tour,  Margaret,  and  I,  were  seated  at  a 
little  distance,  beneath  the  plantain  trees ;  and,  owing  to  the 
stillness  of  the  night,  we  distinctly  heard  their  conversation, 
which  I  have  not  forgotten. 

Paul  said  to  her, — "  You  are  going  away  from  us,  they  tell 
me,  in  three  days.  You  do  not  fear  then  to  encounter  the 
danger  of  the  sea,  at  the  sight  of  which  you  are  so  much  terri- 
fied ?  "  "  1  must  perform  my  duty,"  answered  Virginia,  "  by 
obeying  my  parent."  "You  leave  us,"  resumed  Paul,  "for  a 
distant  relation,  whom  you  have  never  seen."  "  Alas  !  "  cried 
Virginia,  "  I  would  have  remained  here  my  whole  life,  but  my 
mother  would  not  have  it  so.  My  confessor,  too,  told  me  it 
was  the  will  of  God  that  I  should  go,  and  that  life  was  a  scene 
of  trials  ! — and  Oh  !  this  is  indeed  a  severe  one." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Paul,  "you  could  find  so  many  reasons 
for  going,  and  not  one  for  remaining  here  !  Ah  !  there  is  one 
reason  for  your  departure  that  you  have  not  mentioned.  Riches 


PAUL  AND  VIRGIN! A.  63 

have  great  attractions.  You  will  soon  find  in  the  new  world  to 
which  you  are  going,  another,  to  whom  you  will  give  the 
name  of  brother,  which  you  bestow  on  me  no  more.  You  will 
choose  that  brother  from  amongst  persons  who  are  worthy  of 
you  by  their  birth,  and  by  a  fortune  which  I  have  not  to  offer. 
But  where  can  you  go  to  be  happier  ?  On  what  shore  will  you 
land,  and  find  it  dearer  to  you  than  the  spot  which  gave  you 
birth  ? — and  where  will  you  form  around  you  a  society  more 
delightful  to  you  than  this,  by  which  you  are  so  much  beloved  ? 
How  will  you  bear  to  live  without  your  mother's  caresses,  to 
which  you  are  so  much  accustomed  ?  What  will  become  of 
her,  already  advanced  in  years,  when  she  no  longer  sees  you  at 
her  side  at  table,  in  the  house,  in  the  walks,  where  she  used  to 
lean  upon  you  ?  What  will  become  of  my  mother,  who  loves 
you  with  the  same  affection  ?  What  shall  I  say  to  comfort 
them  when  I  see  them  weeping  for  your  absence  ?  Cruel  Vir- 
ginia !  I  say  nothing  to  you  of  myself ;  but  what  will  become 
of  me,  when  in  the  morning  I  shall  no  more  see  you  ;  when  the 
evening  will  come,  and  not  reunite  us  ? — when  I  shall  gaze  on 
these  two  palm  trees,  planted  at  our  birth,  and  so  long  the 
witnesses  of  our  mutual  friendship  ?  Ah !  since  your  lot  is 
changed, — since  you  seek  in  a  far  country  other  possessions 
than  the  fruits  of  my  labor,  let  me  go  with  you  in  the  vessel  in 
which  you  are  about  to  embark.  I  will  sustain  your  spirits  in 
the  midst  of  those  tempests  which  terrify  you  so  much  even 
on  shore.  I  will  lay  my  head  upon  your  bosom  :  I  will  warm 
your  heart  upon  my  own  ;  and  in  France,  where  you  are  going 
in  search  of  fortune  and  of  grandeur,  I  will  wait  upon  you  as 
your  slave.  Happy  only  in  your  happiness,  you  will  find  me, 
in  those  palaces  where  I  shall  see  you  receiving  the  homage 
and  adoration  of  all,  rich  and  noble  enough  to  make  you  the 
greatest  of  all  sacrifices,  by  dying  at  your  feet." 

The  violence  of  his  emotions  stopped  his  utterance,  and  we 
then  heard  Virginia,  who,  in  a  voice  broken  by  sobs,  uttered 
these  words  : — "  It  is  for  you  that  I  go, — for  you  whom  I  see 
tired  to  death  every  day  by  the  labor  of  sustaining  two  helpless 
families.  If  I  have  accepted  this  opportunity  of  becoming 
rich,  it  is  only  to  return  a  thousand-fold  the  good  which  you 
have  done  us.  Can  any  fortune  be  equal  to  your  friendship  ? 
Why  do  you  talk  about  your  birth  ?  Ah  !  if  it  were  possible 
for  me  still  to  have  a  brother,  should  I  make  choice  of  any 
other  than  you  ?  Oh,  Paul,  Paul  !  you  are  far  dearer  to  me 
than  a  brother!  .How  much  has  it  cost  me  to  repulse  you 
from  me !  Help  me  to  tear  myself  from  what  I  value  more 


64  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

than  existence,  till  Heaven  shall  bless  our  union.  But  I  will 
stay  or  go, — I  will  live  or  die, — dispose  of  me  as  you  will.  Un- 
happy that  I  am  !  I  could  have  repelled  your  caresses  ;  but  I 
cannot  support  your  affliction." 

At  these  words  Paul  seized  her  in  his  arms,  and,  holding 
.her  pressed  close  to  his  bosom,  in  a  piercing  tone,  "  I  will  go 
with  her, — nothing  shall  ever  part  us."  We  all  ran  towards 
him  ;  and  Madame  de  la  Tour  said  to  him,  "  My  son,  if  you  go, 
what  will  become  of  us  !  " 

He,  trembling,  repeated  after  her  the  words, — "  My  son  ! — • 
my  son  !  You  my  mother  !  "  cried  he ;  "  you,  who  would 
separate  the  brother  from  the  sister !  We  have  both  been 
nourished  at  your  bosom;  we  have  both  been  reared  upon 
your  knees  ;  we  have  learnt  of  you  to  love  one  another ;  we  have 
said  so  a  thousand  times ;  and  now  you  would  separate  her 
from  me ! — you  would  send  her  to  Europe,  that  inhospitable 
country  which  refused  you  an  asylum,  and  to  relations  by  whom 
you  yourself  were  abandoned.  You  will  tell  me  that  I  have  no 
right  over  her,  and  that  she  is  not  my  sister.  She  is  everything 
to  me  ; — my  riches,  my  birth,  my  family, — all  that  I  have  !  I 
know  no  other.  We  have  had  but  one  roof, — one  cradle, — 
and  we  will  have  but  one  grave !  If  she  goes,  I  will  follow 
her.  The  governor  will  prevent  me!  Will  he  prevent  me 
from  flinging  myself  into  the  sea  ? — will  he  prevent  me  from 
following  her  by  swimming  ?  The  sea  cannot  be  more  fatal  to 
me  than  the  land.  Since  I  cannot  live  with  her,  at  least  I  will 
die  before  her  eyes,  far  from  you.  Inhuman  mother ! — woman 
without  compassion ! — may  the  ocean,  to  which  you  trust  her, 
restore  her  to  you  no  more !  May  the  waves,  rolling  back  our 
bodies  amid  the  shingles  of  this  beach,  give  you,  in  the  loss  of 
your  two  children,  an  eternal  subject  of  remorse  ! " 

At  these  words,  I  seized  him  in  my  arms,  for  despair  had 
deprived  him  of  reason.  His  eyes  sparkled  with  fire,  the  per- 
spiration fell  in  great  drops  from  his  face ;  his  knees  trembled, 
and  I  felt  his  heart  beat  violently  against  his  burning  bosom. 

Virginia,  alarmed,  said  to  him, — "  Oh,  my  dear  Paul,  I  call 
to  witness  the  pleasures  of  our  early  age,  your  griefs  and  my 
own,  and  everything  that  can  forever  bind  two  unfortunate 
beings  to  each  other,  that  if  I  remain  at  home,  I  will  live  but 
for  you  ;  that  if  I  go,  I  will  one  day  return  to  be  yours.  I  call 
you  all  to  witness  ; — you  who  have  reared  me  from  my  infancy, 
who  dispose  of  my  life,  and  who  see  my  tears.  I  swear  by  that 
Heaven  which  hears  me,  by  the  sea  which  I  am  going  to  pass, 
by  the  air  I  breath,  and  which  I  never  sullied  by  a  falsehood." 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  65 

As  the  sun  softens  and  precipitates  an  icy  rock  from  the 
summit  of  one  of  the  Appenines,  so  the  impetuous  passions  of 
the  young  man  were  subdued  by  the  voice  of  her  he  loved. 
He  bent  his  head,  and  a  torrent  of  tears  fell  from  his  eyes. 
His  mother,  mingling  her  tears  with  his,  held  him  in  her  arms, 
but  was  unable  to  speak.  Madame  de  la  Tour,  half  distracted, 
said  to  me,  "  I  can  bear  this  no  longer.  My  heart  is  quite 
broken.  This  unfortunate  voyage  shall  not  take  place.  Do 
take  my  son  home  with  you.  Not  one  of  us  has  had  any  rest 
the  whole  week." 

I  said  to  Paul,  "  My  dear  friend,  your  sister  shall  remain 
here.  To-morrow  we  will  talk  to  the  governor  about  it ;  leave 
your  family  to  take  some  rest,  and  come  and  pass  the  night 
with  me.  It  is  late  ;  it  is  midnight ;  the  southern  cross  is  just 
above  the  horizon." 

He  suffered  himself  to  be  led  away  in  silence  •  and,  after  a 
night  of  great  agitation,  he  arose  at  break  of  day,  and  returned 
home. 

But  why  should  I  continue  any  longer  to  you  the  recital  of 
this  history?  There  is  but  one  aspect  of  human  existence 
which  we  can  ever  contemplate  with  pleasure.  Like  the  globe 
upon  which  we  revolve,  the  fleeting  course  of  life  is  but  a  day ; 
and  if  one  part  of  that  day  be  visited  by  light,  the  other  is 
thrown  into  darkness. 

"  My  father,"  I  answered,  "finish,  I  conjure  you,  the  history 
which  you  have  begun  in  a  manner  so  interesting.  If  the  im- 
ages of  happiness  are  the  most  pleasing,  those  of  misfortune 
are  the  more  instructive.  Tell  me  what  became  of  the  unhappy 
young  man." 

The  first  object  beheld  by  Paul  in  his  way  home  was  the 
negro  woman  Mary,  who,  mounted  on  a  rock,  was  earnestly 
looking  towards  the  sea.  As  soon  as  he  perceived  her,  he 
called  to  her  from  a  distance, — "  Where  is  Virginia  ?  "  Mary 
turned  her  head  towards  her  young  master,  and  began  to  weep. 
Paul,  distracted,  retracing  his  steps,  ran  to  the  harbor.  He  was 
informed,  that  Virginia  had  embarked  at  the  break  of  day,  and 
that  the  vessel  had  immediately  set  sail,  and  was  now  out  of 
sight.  He  instantly  returned  to  the  plantation,  which  he  crossed 
without  uttering  a  word. 

Quite  perpendicular  as  appears  the  walls  of  rocks  behind  us, 
those  green  platforms  which  separate  their  summits  are  so  many 
stages,  by  means  of  which  you  may  reach,  through  some  difficult 
paths,  that  cone  of  sloping  and  inaccessible  rocks,  which  is 
The  Thumb.'  At  the  foot  of  that  cone  is  an  extended 


66  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

slope  of  ground,  covered  with  lofty  trees,  and  so  steep  and  ele- 
vated that  it  looks  like  a  forest  in  the  air,  surrounded  by  tre- 
mendous precipices.  The  clouds,  which  are  constantly  attracted 
round  the  summit  of  The  Thumb,  supply  innumerable  rivulets, 
which  fall  to  so  great  a  depth  in  the  valley  situated  on  the 
other  side  of  the  mountain,  that  from  this  elevated  point  the 
sound  of  their  cataracts  cannot  be  heard.  From  that  spot  you 
can  discern  a  considerable  part  of  the  island,  diversified  by  pre- 
cipices and  mountain  peaks,  and  amongst  others,  Peter-Booth, 
and  the  Three  Breasts,  with  their  valleys  full  of  woods.  You 
also  command  an  extensive  view  of  the  ocean,  and  can  even 
perceive  the  Islfc  of  Bourbon,  forty  leagues  to  the  westward. 
From  the  summit  of  that  stupendous  pile  of  rocks  Paul  caught 
sight  of  the  vessel  which  was  bearing  away  Virginia,  and  which 
now,  ten  leagues  out  at  sea,  appeared  like  a  black  spot  in  the 
midst  of  the  ocean.  He  remained  a  great  part  of  the  day  with 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  this  object :  when  it  had  disappeared,  he 
still  fancied  he  beheld  it ;  and  when,  at  length,  the  traces  which 
clung  to  his  imagination  were  lost  in  the  mists  of  the  horizon, 
he  seated  himself  on  that  wild  point,  forever  beaten  by  the 
winds,  which  never  cease  to  agitate  the  tops  of  the  cabbage  and 
gum-trees,  and  the  hoarse  and  moaning  murmurs  of  which,  sim- 
ilar to  the  distant  sound  of  organs,  inspire  a  profound  melan- 
choly. On  this  spot  I  found  him,  his  head  reclining  on  the 
rock,  and  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground.  I  had  followed  him 
from  the  earliest  dawn,  and,  after  much  importunity,  I  prevailed 
on  him  to  descend  from  the  heights,  and  return  to  his  family. 
I  went  home  with  him,  where  the  first  impulse  of  his  mind,  on 
seeing  Madame  de  la  Tour,  was  to  reproach  her  bitterly  for 
having  deceived  him.  She  told  us  that  a  favorable  wind  having 
sprung  up  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  the  vessel  being 
ready  to  sail,  the  governor,  attended  by  some  of  his  staff  and 
the  missionary,  had  come  with  a  palanquin  to  fetch  her  daugh- 
ter ;  and  that,  notwithstanding  Virginia's  objections,  her  own 
tears  and  entreaties,  and  the  lamentations  of  Margaret,  every- 
body exclaiming  all  the  time  that  it  was  for  the  general  welfare, 
they  "had  carried  her  away  almost  dying.  "At  least,"  cried 
Paul,  "  if  I  had  bid  her  farewell,  I  should  now  be  more  calm. 
I  would  have  said  to  her, — '  Virginia,  if,  during  the  time  we 
have  lived  together,  one  word  may  have  escaped  me  which  has 
offended  you,  before  you  leave  me  forever,  tell  me  that  you  for- 
give me.'  I  would  have  said  to  her, — '  Since  I  am  destined  to 
see  you  no  more,  farewell,  my  dear  Virginia,  farewell !  Live 
far  from  me  contented  and  happy  ! ' '  When  he  saw  that  hi$ 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  gy 

Mother  and  Madame  de  la  Tour  were  weeping, — "  You  must 
now,"  said  he,  "  seek  some  other  hand  to  wipe  away  your  tears ; " 
and  then,  rushing  out  of  the  house,  and  groaning  aloud,  he 
wandered  up  and  down  the  plantation.  He  hovered  in  particu- 
lar about  those  spots  which  had  been  most  endearing  to  Vir- 
ginia. He  said  to  the  goats,  and  their  little  ones,  which  followed 
him,  bleating, — "  What  do  you  want  of  me  ?  You  will  see  with 
me  no  more  her  who  used  to  feed  you  with  her  own  hand." 
He  went  to  the  bower  called  Virginia's  Resting-place,  and,  as 
the  birds  flew  around  him,  exclaimed,  "  Poor  birds  !  you  will  fly 
no  more  to  meet  her  who  cherished  you ! " — and  observing 
Fidele  running  backwards  and  forwards  in  search  of  her,  he 
heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  cried, — "  Ah  !  you  will  never  find  her 
again."  At  length  he  went  and  seated  himself  upon  a  rock 
where  he  had  conversed  with  her  the  preceding  evening ;  and 
at  the  sight  of  the  ocean  upon  which  he  had  seen  the  vessel 
disappear  which  had  born  her  away,  his  heart  overflowed  with 
anguish,  and  he  wept  bitterly. 

We  continually  watched  his  movements,  apprehensive  of 
some  fatal  consequence  from  the  violent  agitation  of  his  mind. 
His  mother  and  Madame  de  la  Tour  conjured  him,  in  the  most 
tender  manner,  not  to  increase  their  affliction  by  his  despair. 
At  length  the  latter  soothed  his  mind  by  lavishing  upon  him 
epithets  calculated  to  awaken  his  hopes, — calling  him  her  son, 
her  dear  son,  her  son-in-law,  whom  she  destined  for  her  daugh- 
ter. She  persuaded  him  to  return  home,  and  to  take  some 
food.  He  seated  himself  next  to  the  place  which  used  to  be 
occupied  by  the  companion  of  his  childhood ;  and,  as  if  she 
had  still  been  present,  he  spoke  to  her,  and  made  as  though  he 
would  offer  her  whatever  he  knew  was  most  agreeable  to  her 
taste  .  then,  starting  from  this  dream  of  fancy,  he  began  to 
weep.  For  some  days  he  employed  himself  in  gathering  every 
thing  which  had  belonged  to  Virginia,  the  last  nosegays  she  had 
worn,  the  cocoa-shell  from  which  she  used  to  drink ;  and  after 
kissing  a  thousand  times  these  relics  of  his  beloved,  to  him  the 
most  precious  treasures  which  the  world  contained,  he  hid  them 
in  his  bosom.  Amber  does  not  shed  so  sweet  a  perfume  as  the 
veriest  trifles  touched  by  those  we  love.  At  length,  perceiv- 
ing that  the  indulgence  of  his  grief  increased  that  of  his  mother 
and  Madame  de  la  Tour,  and  that  the  wants  of  the 'family 
demanded  continual  labor,  he  began,  with  the  assistance  of 
Domingo,  to  repair  the  damage  done  to  the  garden. 

But,  soon  after,,  this  young  man,  hitherto  indifferent  as  a 
Creole  to  everything  that  was  passing  in  the  world,  begged  of  me. 


68  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

to  teach  him  to  read  and  write,  in  order  that  we  might  corre- 
spond with  Virginia.  He  afterwards  wished  to  obtain  a  knowl- 
edge of  geography,  that  he  might  form  some  idea  of  the  coun- 
try where  she  would  disembark  ;  and  of  history,  that  he  might 
know  something  of  the  manners  of  the  society  in  which  she 
would  be  placed.  The  powerful  sentiment  of  love,  which 
directed  his  present  studies,  had  already  instructed  him  in  agri- 
culture, and  in  the  art  of  laying  out  grounds  with  advantage 
and  beauty.  It  must  be  admitted,  that  to  the  fond  dreams  of 
this  restless  and  ardent  passion,  mankind  are  indebted  for 
most  of  the  arts  and  sciences,  while  its  disappointments  have 
given  birth  to  philosophy,  which  teaches«us  to  bear  up  under 
misfortune.  Love,  thus,  the  general  link  of  all  beings,  becomes 
the  great  spring  of  society,  by  inciting  us  to  knowledge  as  well 
as  to  pleasure. 

Paul  found  little  satisfaction  in  the  study  of  geography, 
which,  instead  of  describing  the  natural  history  of  each  country, 
gave  only  a  view  of  its  political  divisions  and  boundaries.  His- 
tory, and  especially  modern  history,  interested  him  little  more. 
He  there  saw  only  general  and  periodical  evils,  the  causes  of 
which  he  could  not  discover ;  wars  without  either  motive  or 
reason  ;  uninteresting  intrigues  ;  with  nations  destitute  of  prin- 
ciple, and  princes  void  of  humanity.  To  this  branch  of  read- 
ing he  preferred  romances,  which,  being  chiefly '  occupied  by 
the  feelings  and  concerns  of  men,  sometimes  represented  situa- 
tions similar  to  his  own.  Thus,  no  book  gave  him  so  much 
pleasure  as  Telemachus,  from  the  pictures  it  draws  of  pastoral 
life,  and  of  the  passions  which  are  most  natural  to  the  human 
breast.  He  read  aloud  to  his  mother  and  Madame  de  la  Tour 
those  parts  which  affected  him  most  sensibly  ;  but  sometimes, 
touched  by  the  most  tender  remembrances,  his  emotion  would 
choke  his  iterance,  and  his  eyes  be  filled  with  tears.  He 
fancied  he  had  found  in  Virginia  the  dignity  and  wisdom  of 
Antiope,  united  to  the  misfortunes  and  the  tenderness  of 
Eucharis.  With  very  different  sensations  he  perused  our  fash- 
ionable novels,  filled  with  licentious  morals  and  maxims,  and 
when  he  was  informed  that  these  works  drew  a  tolerably  faith- 
ful picture  of  European  society,  he  trembled,  and  not  without 
some  appearance  of  reason,  lest  Virginia  should  become  cor- 
rupted by  it,  and  forget  him. 

More  than  a  year  and  a  half,  indeed,  passed  away  before 
Madame  de  la  Tour  received  any  tidings  of  her  aunt  or  her 
daughter.  During  that  period  she  only  acciclently  heard  that 
Virginia  had  safely  arrived  in  France.  At  length,  however,  a 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  fy 

vessel  which  stopped  here  in  its  way  to  the  Indies  brought  a 
packet  to  Madame  de  la  Tour,  and  a  letter  written  by  Virginia's 
own  hand.  Although  this  amiable  and  considerate  girl  had 
written  in  a  guarded  manner  that  she  might  not.  wound  her 
mother's  feelings,  it  appeared  evident  enough  that  she  was  un- 
happy. The  letter  painted  so  naturally  her  situation  and  her 
character,  that  I  have  retained  it  almost  word  for  word. 

"  MY   DEAR   AND    BELOVED    MOTHER, 

"  I  have  already  sent  you  several  letters,  written  by  my  own 
hand,  but  having  received  no  answer,  I  am  afraid  they  have 
not  reached  you.  I  have  better  hopes  for  this,  from  the  means 
I  have  now  gained  of  sending  you  tidings  of  myself,  and  of 
hearing  from  you. 

"  I  have  shed  many  tears  since  our  separation,  I  who  never 
used  to  weep,  but  for  the  misfortunes  of  others  !  My  aunt  was 
much  astonished,  when,  having,  upon  my  arrival,  inquired  what 
accomplishments  I  possessed,  I  told  her  that  I  could  neither 
read  nor  write.  She  asked  me  what  then  I  had  learnt,  since  I 
came  into  the  world  ;  and  when  I  answered  that  I  had  been 
taught  to  take  care  of  the  household  affairs,  and  to  obey  your 
will,  she  told  me  that  I  had  received  the  education  of  a  servant. 
The  next  day  she  placed  me  as  a  boarder  in  a  great  abbey  near 
Paris,  where  I  have  masters  of  all  kinds,  who  teach  me  among 
other  things,  history,  geography,  grammar,  mathematics,  and 
riding  on  horseback.  But  I  have  so  little  capacity  for  all  these 
sciences,  that  I  fear  I  shall  make  but  small  progress  with  my 
masters.  I  feel  that  I  am  a  very  poor  creature,  with  very  little 
ability  to  learn  what  they  teach.  My  aunt's  kindness,  however, 
does  not  decrease.  She  gives  me  new  dresses  every  season  ; 
and  she  has  placed  two  waiting  women  with  me,  who  are 
dressed  like  fine  ladies.  She  has  made  me  take  the  title  of 
countess  ;  but  has  obliged  me  to  renounce  the  name  of  LA  TOUR, 
which  is  as  dear  to  me  as  it  is  to  you,  from  all  you  have  told  me 
of  the  sufferings  my  father  endured  in  order  to  marry  you.  She 
has  given  me  in  place  of  your  name  that  of  your  family,  which 
is  also  dear  to  me,  because  it  was  your  name  when  a  girl.  See- 
ing myself  in  so  splendid  a  situation,  I  implored  her  to  let  me 
send  you  something  to  assist  you.  But  how  shall  I  repeat  her 
answer !  Yet  you  have  desired  me  always  to  tell  you  the  truth. 
She  told  me  then  that  a  little  would  be  of  no  use  to  you,  and 
that  a  great  deal  would  only  encumber  you  in  the  simple  life 
you  led.  As  you  know  I  could  not  write,  I  endeavored  upon 
my  arrival,  to  send  you  tidings  of  myself  by  another  hand  ;  but, 

21 


y0  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

finding  no  person  here  in  whom  I  could  place  confidence,  I 
applied  night  and  day  to  learn  to  read  and  write,  and  Heaven, 
who  saw  my  motive  for  learning,  no  doubt  assisted  my  en- 
deavors, for  J  succeeded  in  both  for  a  short  time.  I  entrusted 
my  first  letters  to  some  of  the  ladies  here,  who,  I  have  reason 
to  think,  carried  them  to  my  aunt.  This  time  I  have  recourse 
to  a  boarder,  who  is  my  friend.  I  send  you  her  direction,  by 
means  of  which  I  shall  receive  your  answer.  My  aunt  has  for- 
bid me  holding  any  correspondence  whatever,  with  any  one, 
lest,  she  says,  it  should  occasion  an  obstacle  to  the  great  views 
she  has  for  my  advantage.  No  person  is  allowed  to  see  me  at 
the  grate  but  herself,  and  an  old  nobleman,  one  of  her  friends, 
who,  she  says,  is  much  pleased  with  me.  I  am  sure  I  am  not  at 
all  so  with  him,  nor  should  I,  even  if  it  were  possible  for  me  to 
be  pleased  with  any  one  at  present. 

"  I  live  in  all  the  splendor  of  affluence,  and  have  not  a 
soul  at  my  disposal.  They  say  I  might  make  an  improper  use 
of  money.  P^ven  my  clothes  belong  to  my  femmes  de  chambre, 
who  quarrel  about  them  before  I  have  left  them  off.  In  the 
midst  of  riches  I  am  poorer  than  when  I  lived  with  you ;  for  I 
have  nothing  to  give  away.  When  I  found  that  the  great  accom- 
plishments they  taught  me  would  not  procure  me  the  power  of 
doing  the  smallest  good,  I  had  recourse  to  my  needle,  of  which 
happily  you  had  taught  me  the  use.  I  send  several  pairs  of 
stockings  of  my  own  making  for  you  and  my  mamma  Margaret, 
a  cap  for  Domingo,  and  one  of  my  red  handkerchiefs  for  Mary. 
I  also  send  with  this  packet  some  kernels,  and  seeds  of  various 
kinds  of  fruits  which  I  gathered  in  the  abbey  park  during  my 
hours  of  recreation.  I  have  also  sent  a  few  seeds  of  violets, 
daisies,  buttercups,  poppies  and  scabious,  which  I  picked  up 
in  the  fields.  There  are  much  more  beautiful  flowers  in  the 
meadows  of  this  country  than  in  ours,  but  nobody  cares  for 
them.  I  am  sure  that  you  and  my  mamma  Margaret  will  be 
better  pleased  with  this  bag  of  seeds,  than  you  were  with  the 
bag  of  piastres,  which  was  the  cause  of  our  separation  and  of  my 
tears.  It  will  give  me  great  delight  if  you  should  one  day  see 
apple-trees  growing  by  the  side  of  our  plantains,  and  elms 
blending  their  foliage  with  that  of  our  cocoa  trees.  You  will 
fancy  yourself  in  Normandy,  which  you  love  so  much. 

"  You  desired  me  to  relate  to  you  my  joys  and  my  griefs. 
I  have  no  joys  far  from  you.  As  for  my  griefs,  I  endeavor  to 
soothe,  them  by  reflecting  that  I  am  in  the  situation  in  which 
it  was  the  will  of  God  that  you  should  place  me.  But  my 
grea.te.st  affliction  is4  tJ|§t  ne  Qne  here,  sptaks  to  me  of  you,  ancl 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  7, 

that  I  cannot  speak  of  you  to  any  one.  My  femmes  de  cham- 
bre,  or  rather  those  of  my  aunt,  for  they  belong  more  to  her 
than  to  me,  told  me  the  other  day,  when  I  wished  to  turn  the 
conversation  upon  the  objects  most  dear  to  me  :  '  Remember, 
mademoiselle,  that  you  are  a  French  woman,  and  must  forget 
that  land  of  savages.'  Ah  !  sooner  will  1  forget  myself,  than 
forget  the  spot  on  which  I  was  born  and  where  you  dwell !  It 
is  this  country  which  is  to  me  a  land  of  savages,  for  I  live 
alone,  having  no  one  to  whom  I  can  impart  those  feelings  of 
tenderness  for  you  which  I  shall  bear  with  me  to  the  grave.  I 
am, 

"  My  dearest  and  beloved  mother, 

"  Your  affectionate  and  dutiful  daughter, 

"VlRGINIE   DE    LA   TOUR." 

"  I  recommend  to  your  goodness  Mary  and  Domingo,  who 
took  so  much  care  of  my  infancy ;  caress  Fidele  for  me,  who 
found  me  in  the  wood." 

Paul  was  astonished  that  Virginia  had  not  said  one  word 
of  him, — she,  who  had  not  forgotten  even  the  house-dog.  But 
he  was  not  aware  that,  however  long  a  woman's  letter  may  be, 
she  never  fails  to  leave  her  dearest  sentiments  for  the  end. 

In  a  postscript,  Virginia  particularly  recommended  to  Paul's 
attention  two  kinds  of  seed, — those  of  the  violet  and  the  scabi- 
ous. She  gave  him  some  instructions  upon  the  natural  charac- 
ters of  these  flowers,  and  the  spots  most  proper  for  their  culti- 
vation. "  The  violet,"  she  said,  "  produces  a  little  flower  of  a 
dark  purple  color,  which  delights  to  conceal  itself  beneath  the 
bushes;  but  it  is  soon  discovered  by  its  wide-spreading  perfume." 
She  desired  that  these  seeds  might  be  sown  by  the  border  of 
the  fountain,  at  the  foot  of  her  cocoa-tree.  "  The  scabious," 
she  added,  "  produces  a  beautiful  flower  of  a  pale  blue,  and  a 
black  ground  spotted  with  white.  You  might  fancy  it  was  in 
mourning ;  and  for  this  reason  it  is  also  called  the  widow's 
flower.  It  grows  best  in  bleak  spots,  beaten  by  the  winds." 
She  begged  him  to  sow  this  upon  the  rock  where  she  had 
spoken  to  him  at  night  for  the  last  time,  and  that,  in  remem- 
brance of  her,  he  would  henceforth  give  it  the  name  of  the 
Rock  of  Adieus. 

She  had  put  these  seeds  into  a  little  purse,  the  tissue  of 
which  was  exceedingly  simple  ;  but  which  appeared  above  all 
price  to  Paul,  when  he  saw  on  it  a  P  and  a  V  entwined  to- 
gether, and  knew  that  the  beautiful  hair  which  formed  the 
cypher  was  the  hair  of  Virginia. 


-j2  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

The  whole  family  listened  with  tears  to  the  reading  of  the 
letter  of  this  amiable  and  virtuous  girl.  Her  mother  answered 
it  in  the  name  of  the  little  society,  desiring  her  to  remain  or  re- 
turn as  she  thought  proper  :  and  assuring  her,  that  happiness 
had  left  their  dwelling  since  her  departure,  and  that,  for  her- 
self, she  was  inconsolable. 

Paul  also  sent  her  a  very  long  letter,  in  which  he  assured 
her  that  he  would  arrange  the  garden  in  a  manner  agreeable  to 
her  taste,  and  mingle  together  in  it  the  plants  of  Europe  with 
those  of  Africa,  as  she  had  blended  their  initials  together  in 
her  work.  He  sent  her  some  fruit  from  the  cocoa-trees  of  the 
fountain,  now  arrived  at  maturity ;  telling  her,  that  he  would 
not  add  any  of  tht  other  productions  of  the  island,  that  the 
desire  of  seeing  them  again  might  hasten  her  return.  He  con- 
jured her  to  comply  as  soon  as  possible  with  the  ardent 
wishes  of  her  family,  and  above  all,  with  his  own,  since  he 
could  never  hereafter  taste  happiness  away  from  her. 

Paul  sowed  with  a  careful  hand  the  European  seeds,  par- 
ticularly the  violet  and  the  scabious,  the  flowers  of  which 
seemed  to  •  bear  some  analogy  to  the  character  and  present 
situation  of  Virginia,  by  whom  they  had  been  so  especially 
recommended  ;  but  either  they  were  dried  up  in  the  voyage,  or 
the  climate  of  this  part  of  the  world  is  unfavorable  to  their 
growth,  for  a  very  small  number  of  them  even  came  up,  and 
not  one  arrived  at  full  perfection. 

In  the  mean  time,  envy,  which  ever  comes  to  embitter  human 
happiness,  particularly  in  the  French  colonies,  spread  some 
reports  in  the  island  which  gave  Paul  much  uneasiness.  The 
passengers  in  the  vessel  which  brought  Virginia's  letter,  as- 
serted that  she  was  upon  the  point  of  being  married,  and 
named  the  nobleman  of  the  court  to  whom  she  was  engaged. 
Some  even  went  so  far  as  to  declare  that  the  union  had  already 
taken  place,  and  that  they  themselves  had  witnessed  the  cere- 
mony. Paul  at  first  despised  the  report,  brought  by  a  mer- 
chant vessel,  as  he  knew  that  they  often  spread  erroneous 
intelligence  in  their  passage  ;  but  some  of  the  inhabitants  of 
the  island,  with  malignant  pity,  affecting  to  bewail  the  event, 
he  was  soon  led  to  attach  some  degree  of  belief  to  this  cruel 
intelligence.  Besides,  in  some  of  the  novels  he  had  lately 
read,  he  had  seen  that  perfidy  was  treated  as  a  subject  of 
pleasantry  ;  and  knowing  that  these  books  contained  pretty 
faithful  representations  of  European  manners,  he  feared  that 
the  heart  of  Virginia  was  corrupted,  and  had  forgotten  its 
engagements.  Thus  his  new  acquireme.^  ha.d.  already 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


73 


only  served  to  render  him  more  miserable  ;  and  his  apprehen- 
sions were  much  increased  by  the  circumstance,  that  though 
several  ships  touched  here  from  Europe,  within  the  six  months 
immediately  following  the  arrival  of  her  letter,  not  one  of  them 
brought  any  tidings  of  Virginia. 

This  unfortunate  young  man,  with  a  heart  torn  by  the  most 
cruel  agitation,  often  came  to  visit  me,  in  the  hope  of  confirm- 
ing or  banishing  his  uneasiness,  by  my  experience  of  the  world. 

I  live,  as  I  have  already  told  you,  a  league  and  a  half  from 
this  point,  upon  the  banks  of  a  little  river  which  glides  along 
the  Sloping  Mountain :  there  I  lead  a  solitary  life,  without 
wife,  children,  or  slaves.  • 

After  having  enjoyed,  and  lost  the  rare  felicity  of  living 
with  a  congenial  mind,  the  state  of  life  which  appears  the  least 
wretched  is  doubtless  that  of  solitude.  Every  man  who  has 
much  cause  of  complaint  against  his  fellow-creatures  seeks  to 
be  alone.  It  is  also  remarkable  that  all  those  nations  which 
have  been  brought  to  wretchedness  by  their  opinions,  their 
manners,  or  their  forms  of  government,  have  produced  numer- 
ous classes  of  citizens  altogether  devoted  to  solitude  and 
celibacy.  Such  were  the  Egyptians  in  their  decline,  and  the 
Greeks  of  the  Lower  Empire ;  and  such  in  our  days  are  the 
Indians,  the  Chinese,  the  modern  Greeks,  the  Italians,  and  the 
greater  part  of  the  eastern  and  southern  nations  of  Europe. 
Solitude,  by  removing  men  from  the  miseries  which  follow  in 
the  train  of  social  intercourse,  brings  them  in  some  degree  back 
to  the  unsophisticated  enjoyment  of  nature.  In  the  midst  of 
modern  society,  broken  up  by  innumerable  prejudices,  the 
mind  is  in  a  constant  turmoil  of  agitation.  It  is  incessantly 
revolving  in  itself  a  thousand  tumultuous  and  contradictory 
opinions,  by  which  the  members  of  an  ambitious  and  miserable 
circle  seek  to  raise  themselves  above  each  other.  But  in  soli- 
tude the  soul  lays  aside  the  morbid  illusions  which  troubled 
her,  and  resumes  the  pure  consciousness  of  herself,  of  nature, 
and  of  its  Author,  as  the  muck1}  water  of  a  torrent  which  has 
ravaged  the  plains,  coming  10  rest,  and  diffusing  itself  over 
some  low  grounds  out  of  its  course,  deposits  there  the  slime  it 
has  taken  up,  and,  resuming  its  wonted  transparency,  reflects, 
with  its  own  shores,  the  verdure  of  the  earth  and  the  light  of 
heaven.  Thus  does  solitude  recruit  the  powers  of  the  body  as 
well  as  those  of  the  mind.  It  is  among  hermits  that  are  found 
the  men  who  carry  human  existence  to  its  extreme  limits ;  such 
are  the  Bramins  of  India.  In  brief,  I  consider  solitude  so 
necessary  to  happiness,  even  in  the  world  itself,  that  it  appears 


74  '  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA; 

to  me  impossible  to  derive  lasting  pleasure  from  any  pursuit 
whatever,  or  to  regulate  our  conduct  by  any  stable  principle,  if 
we  <lo  not  create  for  ourselves  a  mental  void,  whence  our  own 
views  rarely  emerge,  and  into  which  the  opinions  of  others 
never  enter.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  man  ought  to  live 
absolutely  alone  ;  he  is  connected  by  his  necessities  with  all 
mankind ;  his  labors  are  due  to  man :  and  he  owes  something 
too  to  the  rest  of  nature.  But,  as  God  has  given  to  each  of  us 
organs  perfectly  adapted  to  the  elements  of  the  globe  on  which 
we  live, — feet  for  the  soil,  lungs  for  the  air,  eyes  for  the  light, 
without  the  power  of  changing  the  use  of  any  of  these  faculties, 
he  has  reserved  for  himself,  as  the  Author  of  life,  that  which  is 
its  chief  organ, — the  heart. 

I  thus  passed  my  days  far  from  mankind,  whom  I  wished 
to  serve,  and  by  whom  I  have  been  persecuted.  After  having 
travelled  over  many  countries  of  Europe,  and  some  parts  of 
America  and  Africa,  I  at  length  pitched  my  tent  in  this  thinly- 
peopled  island,  allured  by  its  mild  climate  and  its  solitudes. 
A  cottage  which  I  built  in  the  woods,  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  a 
little  field  which  I  cleared  with  my  own  hands,  a  river  which 
glides  before  my  door,  suffice  for  my  wants  and  for  my  pleas- 
ures. I  blend  with  these  enjoyments  the  perusal  of  some 
chosen  books,  which  teach  me  to  become  better.  They  make 
that  world,  which  I  have  abandoned,  still  contribute  something 
to  my  happiness.  They  lay  before  me  pictures  of  those  pas- 
sions which  render  its  inhabitants  so  miserable  ;  and  in  the 
comparison  I  am  thus  led  to  make  between  their  lot  and  my 
own,  I  feel  a  kind  of  negative  enjoyment.  Like  a  man  saved 
from  shipwreck,  and  thrown  upon  a  rock,  I  contemplate,  from 
my  solitude,  the  storms  which  rage  through  the  rest  of  the 
world  ;  and  my  repose  seems  more  profound  from  the  distant 
sound  of  the  tempest.  As  men  have  ceased  to  fall  in  my  way, 
I  no  longer  view  them  with  aversion  ;  I  only  pity  them.  If  I 
sometimes  fa!l  in  with  an  unfortunate  being,  I  try  to  help  him  by 
my  counsels,  as  a  passer-by  on  the  brink  of  a  torrent  extends 
his  hand  to  save  a  wretch  from  drowning.  But  I  have  hardly 
ever  found  but  the  innocent  attentive  to  my  voice.  Nature 
calls  the  majority  of  men  to  her  in  vain.  Each  of  them  forms 
an  image  of  her  for  himself,  and  invests  her  with  his  own  pas- 
sions. He  pursues  during  the  whole  of  his  life  this  vain  phan- 
tom, which  leads  him  astray ;  and  he  afterwards  complains  to 
Heaven  of  the  misfortunes  which  he  has  thus  created  for  him- 
self. Among  the  many  children  of  misfortune  whom  I  have 
endeavored  to  lead  back  to  the  enjoyments  of  nature,  I  have 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA:  75 

t- 

not  found  one  but  was  intoxicated  with  his  own  miseries.  They 
have  listened  to  me  at  first  with  attention,  in  the  hope  that  I 
could  teach  them  how  to  acquire  glory  or  fortune,  but  when 
they  found  that  I  only  wished  to  instruct  them  how  to  dispense 
with  these  chimeras,  their  attention  has  been  converted  into 
pity,  because  I  did  not  prize  their  miserable  happiness.  They 
blamed  my  solitary  life  ;  they  alleged  that  they  alone  were 
useful  to  men,  and  they  endeavored  to  draw  me  into  their  vor- 
tex. But  if  I  communicate  with  all,  I  lay  myself  open  to  none. 
It  is  often  sufficient  for  me  to  serve  as  a  lesson  to  myself.  In 
my  present  tranquillity,  I  pass  in  review  the  agitating  pursuits 
of  my  past  life,  to  which  I  formerly  attached  so  much  value, — 
patronage,  fortune,  reputation,  pleasure,  and  the  opinions  which 
are  ever  at  strife  over  all  the  earth.  I  compare  the  men  whom 
I  have  seen  disputing  furiously  over  these  vanities,  and  who 
are  no  more,  to  the  tiny  waves  of  my  rivulet,  which  break  in 
foam  against  its  rocky  bed,  and  disappear,  never  to  return. 
As  for  me,  I  suffer  myself  to  float  calmly  down  the  stream  of 
time  to  the  shoreless  ocean  of  futurity ;  while,  in  the  contem- 
plation of  the  present  harmony  of  nature,  I  elevate  my  soul 
towards  its  supreme  Author,  and  hope  for  a  more  happy  lot  in 
another  state  of  existence. 

Although  you  cannot  descry  from  my  hermitage,  situated  in 
the  midst  of  a  forest,  that  immense  variety  of  objects  which 
this  elevated  spot  presents,  the  grounds  are  disposed  with 
peculiar  beauty,  at  least  to  one  who,  like  me,  prefers  the  seclu- 
sion of  a  home  scene  to  great  and  extensive  prospects.  The 
river  which  glides  before  my  door  passes  in  a  straight  line 
across  the  woods,  looking  like  a  long  canal  shaded  by  all 
kinds  of  trees.  Among  them  are  the  gum  tree,  the  ebony  tree, 
and  that  which  is  here  called  bois  de  pomme,  with  olive  and 
cinnamon-wood  trees ;  while  in  some  parts  the  cabbage-palm 
trees  raise  their  naked  stems  more  than  a  hundred  feet  high, 
their  summits  crowned  with  a  clustre  of  leaves,  and  towering 
above  the  wcods  like  one  forest  piled  upon  another.  Lianas, 
of  various  foliage,  intertwining  themselves  among  the  trees, 
form,  here,  arcades  of  foliage,  there,  long  canopies  of  verdure. 
Most  of  these  trees  shed  aromatic  odors  so  powerful,  that  the 
garments  of  a  traveller,  who  has  passed  through  the  forest, 
often  retain  for  hours  the  most  delicious  fragrance.  In  the  sea- 
son when  they  produce  their  lavish  blossoms,  they  appear  as  if 
half-covered  with  snow.  Towards  the  end  of  summer,  various 
kinds  of  foreign  birds  hasten,  impelled  by  some  inexplicable 


f6  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

instinct,  from  unknown  regions  on  the  other  side  of  immense 
oceans,  to  feed  upon  the  grain  and  other  vegetable  productions 
of  the  island  ;  and  the  brilliancy  of  their  plumage  forms  a  strik- 
ing contrast  to  the  more  sombre  tints  of  the  foliage,  embrowned 
by  the  sun.  Among  these  are  various  kinds  of  parroquets,  and 
the  blue  pigeon,  called  here  the  pigeon  of  Holland.  Monkeys, 
the  domestic  inhabitants  of  our  forests,  sport  upon  the  dark 
branches  of  the  trees,  from  which  they  are  easily  distinguished 
by  their  gray  and  greenish  skin,  and  their  black  visages.  Some 
hang,  suspended  by  the  tail,  and  swing  themselves  in  air  ; 
others  leap  from  branch  to  branch,  bearing  their  young  in  their 
arms.  The  murderous  gun  has  never  affrighted  these  peaceful 
children  of  nature.  You  hear  nothing  but  sounds  of  joy, — the 
warblings  and  unknown  notes  of  birds  from  the  countries  of  the 
south,  repeated  from  a  distance  by  the  echoes  of  the  forest. 
The  river,  which  pours,  in  foaming  eddies,  over  a  bed  of  rocks, 
through  the  midst  of  the.  woods,  reflects  here  and  there  upon 
its  limpid  waters  their  venerable  masses  of  verdure  and  of 
shade,  along  with  the  sports  of  their  happy  inhabitants.  About 
a  thousand  paces  from  thence  it  forms  several  cascades,  clear 
as  crystal  in  their  fall,  but  broken  at  the  bottom  into  frothy 
surges.  Innumerable  confused  sounds  issue  from  these  watery 
tumults,  which,  borne  by  the  winds  across  the  forest,  now  sink 
in  distance,  now  all  at  once  swell  out,  booming  on  the  ear  like 
the  bells  of  a  cathedral.  The  air,  kept  ever  in  motion  by  the 
running  water,  preserves  upon  the  banks  of  the  river,  amid  all 
the  summer  heats;  a  freshness  and  verdure  rarely  found  in  this 
island,  even  on  the  summits  of  the  mountains. 

At  some  distance  from  this  place  is  a  rock,  placed  far  enough 
from  the  cascade  to  prevent  the  ear  from  being  deafened  with 
the  noise  of  its  waters,  and  sufficiently  near  for  the  enjoyment 
of  seeing  it,  of  feeling  its  coolness,  and  hearing  its  gentle  mur- 
murs. Thither,  amidst  the  heats  of  summer,  Madame  de  la  Tour, 
Margaret,  Virginia,  Paul  and  myself,  sometimes  repaired,  to  dine 
beneath  the  shadow  of  this  rock.  Virginia,  who  always,  in  her 
most  ordinary  actions,  was  mindful  of  the  gooc  of  others, 
never  eat  of  any  fruit  in  the  fields  without  planting  the  seed  or 
kernal  in  the  ground.  "  From  this,"  said  she,  "  trees  will  come, 
which  will  yield  their  fruit  to  some  traveller,  or  at  least  to  some 
bird."  One  day,  having  eaten  of  the  papaw  fruit  at  the  foot  of 
that  rock,  she  planted  the  seeds  on  the  spot.  Soon  after, 
several  papaw  trees  sprang  up,  among  which  was  one  with 
female  blossoms,  that  is  to  say,  a  fruit-bearing  tree.  This  tree 
at  the  time  of  Virginia's  departure,  was  scarcely  as  high  as  her 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


77 


knee  ;  but,  as  it  is  a  plant  of  rapid  growth,  in  the  course  of  two 
years  it  had  gained  the  height  of  twenty  feet,  and  the  upper 
part  of  its  stem  was  encircled  by  several  rows  of  ripe  fruit. 
Paul,  wandering  accidentally  to  the  spot,  was  struck  with  de- 
light at  seeing  this  lofty  tree,  which  had  been  planted  by  his 
beloved ;  but  the  emotion  was  transient,  and  instantly  gave 
place  to  a  deep  melancholy,  at  this  evidence  of  her  long  absence. 
The  objects  which  are  habitually  before  us  do  not  bring  wj  our 
minds  an  adequate  idea  of  the  rapidity  of  life  ;  they  decline  in- 
sensibly with  ourselves  :  but  it  is  those  we  behold  again,  after 
having  for  some  years  lost  sight  of  them,  that  most  powerfully 
impress  us  with  a  feeling  of  the  swiftness  with  which  the  tide 
of  life  flows  on.  Paul  was  no  less  overwhelmed  and  affected  at 
the  sight  of  this  great  papaw  tree,  loaded  with  fruit,  than  is  the 
traveller  when,  after  a  long  absence  from  his  own  country,  he 
finds  his  contemporaries  no  more,  but  their  children,  whom  he 
left  at  the  breast,  themselves  now  become  fathers  of  families. 
Paul  sometimes  thought  of  cutting  down  the  tree,  which  recalled 
too  sensibly  the  distracting  remembrance  of  Virginia's  pro- 
longed absence.  At  other  times,  contemplating  it  as  a  monu- 
ment of  her  benevolence,  he  kissed  its  trunk,  and  apostrophized 
it  in  terms  of  the  most  passionate  regret.  Indeed,  I  have  myself 
gazed  upon  it  with  more  emotion  and  more  veneration  than 
upon  the  triumphal  arches  of  Rome.  May  nature,  which  every 
day  destroys  the  monuments  of  kingly  ambition,  multiply  in  our 
forests  those  which  testify  the  beneficence  of  a  poor  young  girl ! 

At  the  foot  of  this  papaw  tree  I  was  always  sure  to  meet 
with  Paul  when  he  came  into  our  neighborhood.  One  day,  I 
found  him  there  absorbed  in  melancholy,  and  a  conversation 
took  place  between  us,  which  I  will  relate  to  you,  if  I  do  not 
weary  you  too  much  by  my  long  digressions  ;  they  are  perhaps 
pardonable  to  my  age  and  to  my  last  friendships.  I  will  relate 
it  to  you  in  the  form  of  a  dialogue,  that  you  may  form  some 
idea  of  the  natural  good  sense  of  this  young  man.  You  will 
easily  distinguish  the  speakers,  from  the  character  of  his  ques- 
tions and  of  my  answers. 

Paul. — I  am  very  unhappy.  Mademoiselle  de  la  Tour  has 
now  been  gone  two  years  and  eight  months,  and  we  have  heard 
no  tidings  of  her  for  eight  months  and  a  half.  She  is  rich, 
and  I  am  poor  ;  she  has  forgotten  me.  I  have  a  great  mind 
to  follow  her.  I  will  go  to  France  ;  I  will  serve  the  king ;  I 
will  make  my  fortune  ;  and  then  Mademoiselle  de  la  Tour's 
aunt  will  bestow  her  niece  upon  me  when  I  shall  have  become 
a  great  lord. 


78  PAUL  AND  VIRGtNTA. 

The  Old  Man. — But,  my  dear  friend,  have  not  you  told  me 
that  you  are  not  of  noble  birth  ? 

Paul. — My  mother  has  told  me  so  ;  but,  as  for  myself,  I 
know  not  what  noble  birth  means.  I  never  perceived  that  I 
had  less  than  others,  or  that  others  had  more  than  I. 

The  Old  Man. — Obscure  birth,  in  France,  shuts  every  door 
of  access  to  great  employments ;  nor  can  you  even  be  received 
among  any  distinguished  body  of  men,  if  you  labor  under  this 
disadvantage. 

jPau/.—You  have  often  told  me  that  it  was  one  source  of 
the  greatness  of  France  that  her  humblest  subject  might  attain 
the  highest  honors ;  and  you  have  cited  to  me  many  instances 
of  celebrated  men  who,  born  in  a  mean  condition,  had  con- 
ferred honor  upon  their  country.  It  was  your  wish,  then,  by 
concealing  the  truth  to  stimulate  my  ardor  ? 

The  Old  Man. — Never,  my  son,  would  I  lower  it.  I  told 
you  the  truth  with  regard  to  the  past ;  but  now,  everything  has 
undergone  a  great  change.  Everything  in  France  is  now  to 
be  obtained  by  interest  alone  ;  every  place  and  employment  is 
now  become  as  it  were  the  patrimony  of  a  small  number  of 
families,  or  is  divided  among  public  bodies.  The  king  is  a 
sun,  and  the  nobles  and  great  corporate  bodies  surround  him 
like  so  many  clouds  ;  it  is  almost  impossible  for  any  of  his 
rays  to  reach  you.  Formerly,  under  less  exclusive  administra- 
tions, such  phenomena  have  been  seen.  Then  talents  and 
merit  showed  themselves  everywhere,  as  newly  cleared  lands 
are  always  loaded  with  abundance.  But  great  kings,  who  can 
really  form  a  just  estimate  of  men,  and  choose  them  with  judg- 
ment, are  rare.  The  ordinary  race  of  monarchs  allow  them- 
selves to  be  guided  by  the  nobles  and  people  who  surround 
them. 

Paul. — But  perhaps  I  shall  find  one  of  these  nobles  to  pro- 
tect me. 

The  Old  Man. — To  gain  the  protection  of  the  great  you 
must  lend  yourself  to  their  ambition,  and  administer  to  their 
pleasures.  You  would  never  succeed  ;  for,  in  addition  to  your 
obscure  birth,  you  have  too  much  integrity. 

Paul. — But  I  will  perform  such  courageous  actions,  I  will 
be  so  faithful  to  my  word,  so  exact  in  the  performance  of  my 
duties,  so  zealous  and  so  constant  in  my  friendships,  that  I 
will  render  myself  worthy  to  be  adopted  by  some  one  of  them. 
In  the  ancient  histories,  you  have  made  me  read,  I  have  seen 
many  samples  of  such  adoptions. 

The  Old  Man. — Oh,  my  young  friend  !  among  the  Greeks 


PAUL  AATD  VIRGINIA.  79 

and  Romans,  even  in  their  decline,  the  nobles  had  some  respect 
for  virtue  ;  but  out  of  all  the  immense  number  of  men,  sprung 
from  the  mass  of  the  people,  in  France,  who  have  signalized 
themselves  in  every  possible  manner,  I  do  not  recollect  a 
single  instance  of  one  being  idopted  by  any  great  family.  If 
it  were  not  for  our  kings,  virtue,  in  our  country,  would  be  eter- 
nally condemned  as  plebeian.  As  I  said  before,  che  monarch 
sometimes,  when  he  perceives  it,  renders  to  it  due  honor ;  but 
in  the  present  day,  the  distinctions  which  should  be  bestowed 
on  merit  are  generally  to  be  obtained  by  money  alone. 

Paul. — If  I  cannot  find  a  nobleman  to  adopt  me,  I  will  seek 
to  please  some  public  body.  I  will  espouse  its  interests  and 
its  opinions :  I  will  make  myself  beloved  by  it. 

The  Old  Man. — You  will  act  then  like  other  men  ? — you 
will  renounce  your  conscience  to  obtain  a  fortune  ? 

Paul. — Oh  no !  I  will  never  lend  myself  to  anything  but 
the  truth. 

The  Old  Man. — Instead  of  making  yourself  beloved,  you 
would  become  an  object  of  dislike.  Besides,  public  bodies 
have  never  taken  much  interest  in  the  discovery  of  truth.  All 
opinions  are  nearly  alike  to  ambitious  men,  provided  only  that 
they  themselves  can  gain  their  ends. 

Paul. — How  unfortunate  I  am  !  Everything  bars  my  pro- 
gress. I  am  condemned  to  pass  my  life  in  ignoble  toil,  far 
from  Virginia. 

As  he  said  this  he  sighed  deeply. 

The  Old  Man. — Let  God  be  your  patron,  and  mankind  the 
public  body  you  would  serve.  Be  constantly  attached  to  them 
both.  Families,  corporations,  nations  and  kings  have,  all  of 
them,  their  prejudices  and  their  passions  ;  it  is  often  necessary 
to  serve  them  by  the  practice  of  vice  :  God  and  mankind  at 
large  require  only  the  exercise  of  the  virtues. 

But  why  do  you  wish  to  be  distinguished  from  other  men  ? 
It  is  hardly  a  natural  sentiment,  for,  if  all  men  possessed  it, 
every  one  would  be  at  constant  strife  with  his  neighbor.  Be 
satisfied  with  fulfilling  your  duty  in  the  station  in  which  Provi- 
dence has  placed  you  ;  be  grateful  for  your  lot,  which  permits 
you  to  enjoy  the  blessing  of  a  quiet  conscience,  and  which  does 
not  compel  you,  like  the  great,  to  let  your  happiness  rest  on 
the  opinion 'of  the  little,  or,  like  the  little,  to  cringe  to  the 
great,  in  order  to  obtain  the  means  of  existence.  You  are  now 
placed  in  a  country  and  a  condition  in  which  you  are  not  re- 
duced to  deceive  or  flatter  anyone,  or  debase  yourself,  as  the 
greater  part  of  those  who  seek  their  fortune  in  Europe  are 


go  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

obliged  to  do  ;  in  which  the -exercise  of  no  virtue  is  forbidden 
you  ;  in  which  you  may  be,  with  impunity,  good,  sincere,  well- 
informed,  patient,  temperate,  chaste,  indulgent  to  others'  faults, 
pious,  and  no  shaft  of  ridicule  be  aimed  at  you  to  destroy  your 
wisdom,  as  yet  only  in  its  bud.  Heaven  has  given  you  liberty, 
health,  a  good  conscience,  and  friends ;  kings  themselves,  whose 
favor  you  desire,  are  not  so  happy. 

Paul. — Ah!  ^jDnly  want  to  have  Virginia  with  me  :  without 
her  I  have  nothing, — with  her,  I  should  possess  all  my  desire. 
She  alone  is  to  me  birth,  glory,  and  fortune.  But,  since  her 
relation  will  only  give  her  to  some  one  with  a  great  name,  I 
will  study.  By  the  aid  of  study  and  of  books,  learning  and 
celebrity  are  to  be  attained.  I  will  become  a  man  of  science  : 
I  will  Tender  my  knowledge  useful  to  the  service  of  my  country, 
without  injuring  any  one,  or  owning  dependence  on  any  one.  I 
will  become  celebrated,  and  my  glory  shall  be  achieved  only 
by  myself. 

The  Old  Man. — My  son,  talents  are  a  gift  yet  more  rare 
than  either  birth  or  riches,  and  undoubtedly  they  are  a  greater 
good  than  either,  since  they  can  never  be  taken  away  from  us, 
and  that  they  obtain  for  us  everywhere  pubHc  esteem.  But 
they  may  be  said  to  be  worth  all  that  they  cost  us.  They  are 
seldom  acquired  but  by  every  species  of  privation,  by  the  pos- 
session of  exquisite  sensibility,  which  often  produces  inward  un- 
happiness,  and  which  exposes  us  without  to  the  malice  and 
persecutions  of  our  contemporaries.  The  lawyer  envies  not, 
in  France,  the  glory  of  the  soldier,  nor  does  the  soldier  envy 
that  of  the  naval  officer ;  but  they  will  all  oppose  you,  and  bar 
your  progress  to  distinction,  because  your  assumption  of  su- 
perior ability  will  wound  the  self-love  of  them  all.  You  say 
that  you  will  do  good  to  men  ;  but  recollect,  that  he  who  makes 
the  earth  produce  a  single  ear  of  corn  more,  renders  them  a 
greater  service  than  he  who  writes  a  book. 

Paul. — Oh  !  she,  then,  who  planted  this  papaw  tree,  has 
made  a  more  useful  and  more  grateful  present  to  the  inhabi- 
tants of  these  forests  than  if  she  had  given  them  a  whole  library. 

So  saying,  he  threw  his  arms  around  the  tree,  and  kissed  it 
with  transport. 

The  Old  Man. — The  best  of  books, — that  which  preaches 
nothing  but  equality,  brotherly  love,  charity,  and  peace, — the 
Gospel,  has  served  as  a  pretext,  during  many  centuries,  for 
Europeans  to  let  loose  all  their  fur)'.  How  many  tyrannies, 
both  public  and  private,  are  still  practiced  in  its  name  on  the 
face  of  the  earth  !  Aftej  this,  who  will  dare  to  flatter  himself 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  g, 

that  anything  he  can  write  will  be  of  service  to  his  fellow-men  ? 
Remember  the  fate  of  most  of  the  philosophers  who  have 
preached  to  them  wisdom.  Homer,  who  clothed  it  in  such 
noble  verse,  asked  for  alms  all  his  life.  Socrates,  whose  con- 
versation and  example  gave  such  admirable  lessons  to  the 
Athenians,  was  sentenced  by  them  to  be  poisoned.  His  sublime 
disciple,  Plato,  was  delivered  over  to  slavery  by  the  order  of 
the  very  prince  who  protected  him  ;  and,  before  them,  Pythag- 
oras, whose  humanity  extended  even  to  animals,  was  burned 
alive  by  the  Crotoniates.  What  do  I  say? — many  even  of 
these  illustrious  names  have  descended  to  us  disfigured  by 
some  traits  of  satire  by  which  they  became  characterized,  hu- 
man ingratitude  taking  pleasure  in  thus  recognizing  them  ; 
and  if,  in  the  crowd,  the  glory  of  some  names  is  come  down 
to  us  without  spot  or  blemish,  we  shall  find  that  they  who  have 
borne  them  have  lived  far  from  the  society  of  their  contempo- 
raries ;  like  those  statues  which  are  found  entire  beneath  the 
soil  in  Greece  and  Italy,  and  which,  by  being  hidden  in  the 
bosom  of  the  earth,  have  escaped  uninjured,  from  the  fury  of 
the  barbarians. 

You  see,  then,  that  to  acquire  the  glory  which  a  turbulent 
literary  career  can  give  you,  you  must  not  only  be  virtuous, 
but  ready,  if  necessary,  to  sacrifice  life  itself.  But,  after  all, 
do  not  fancy  that  the  great  in  France  trouble  themselves  about 
such  glory  as  this.  Little  do  they  care  for  literary  men,  whose 
knowledge  brings  them  neither  honors,  nor  power,  nor  even 
admission  at  court.  Persecution,  it  is  true,  is  rarely  practiced 
in  this  age,  because  it  is  habitually  indifferent  to  everything 
except  wealth  and  luxury  ;  but  knowledge  and  virtue  no  longer 
lead  to  distinction,  since  everything  in  the  state  is  to  be  pur- 
chased with  money.  Formerly,  men  of  letters  were  certain  of 
reward  by  some  place  in  the  church,  the  magistracy,  or  the  ad- 
ministration ;  now  they  are  considered  good  for  nothing  but  to 
write  books.  But  this  fruit  of  their  minds,  little  valued  by  the 
world  at  large,  is  still  worthy  of  its  celestial  origin.  For  these 
books  is  reserved  the  privilege  of  shedding  lustre  on  obscure 
virtue,  of  consoling  the  unhappy,  of  enlightening  nations,  and 
of  telling  the  truth  even  to  kings.  This  is,  unquestionably, 
the  most  august  commission  with  which  Heaven  can  honor  a 
mortal  upon  this  earth.  Where  is  the  author  who  would  not 
be  consoled  for  the  injustice  or  contempt  of  those  who  are  the 
dispensers  of  the  ordinary  gifts  of  fortune,  when  he  reflects 
that  his  work  may  pass  from  age  to  age,  from  nation  to  nation, 
Opposing  a  barrier  to  error  and  to  tyranny  :  and  that,  from, 


g2  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

amidst  the  obscurity  in  which  he  has  lived,  there  will  shine 
forth  a  glory  which  will  efface  that  of  the  common  herd  of 
monarchs,  the  monuments  of  whose  deeds  perish  in  oblivion, 
notwithstanding  the  flatterers  who  erect  and  magnify  them  ? 

Paul. — Ah !  I  am  only  covetous  of  glory  to  bestow  it  on 
Virginia,  and  render  her  dear  to  the  whole  world.  But  can 
you,  who  know  so  much,  tell  me  whether  we  shall  ever  be 
married  ?  I  should  like  to  be  a  very  learned  man,  if  only  for 
the  sake  of  knowing  what  will  come  to  pass. 

The  Old  Man. — Who  would  live,  my  son,  if  the  future  were 
revealed  to  him  ? — when  a  single  anticipated  misfortune  gives 
us  so  much  useless  uneasiness — when  the  foreknowledge  of 
one  certain  calamity  is  enough  to  embitter  every  day  that  pre- 
cedes it !  It  is  better  not  to  pry  too  curiously,  even  into  the 
things  which  surround  us.  Heaven,  which  has  given  us  the 
power  of  reflection  to  foresee  our  necessities,  gave  us  also  those 
very  necessities  to  set  limits  to  its  exercise. 

Paul. — You  tell  me  that  with  money  people  in  Europe  ac- 
quire dignities  and  honors.  I  will  go,  then,  to  enrich  myself 
in  Bengal,  and  afterwards  proceed  to  Paris,  and  marry  Virginia. 
I  will  embark  at  once. 

The  Old  Man. — What !  would  you  leave  her  mother  and 
yours  ? 

Paul. — Why,  you  yourself  have  advised  my  going  to  the 
Indies. 

The  Old  Man. — Virginia  was  then  here  ;  but  you  are  now 
the  only  means  of  support  both  of  her  mother  and  of  your 
own. 

Paul. — Virginia  will  assist  them  by  means  of  her  rich  rela- 
tion. 

The  Old  Man. — The  rich  care  little  for  those,  from  whom 
no  honor  is  reflected  upon  themselves  in  the  world.  Many  of 
them  have  relations  much  more  to  be  pitied  than  Madame  de 
la  Tour,  who,  for  want  of  their  assistance,  sacrifice  their  liberty 
for  bread,  and  pass  their  lives  immured  within  the  walls  of  a 
convent. 

Paul. — Oh,  what  a  country  is  Europe  !  Virginia  must  come 
back  here.  What  need  has  she  of  a  rich  relation  ?  She  was 
so  happy  in  these  huts ;  she  looked  so  beautiful  and  so  well- 
dressed  with  a  red  handkerchief  or  a  few  flowers  around  her 
head  !  Return,  Virginia  <  leave  your  sumptuous  mansions  and 
your  grandeur,  and  come  back  to  these  rocks, — to  the  shade 
of  these  woods  and  of  our  cocoa  trees.  Alas  !  you  are  perhaps 
even  now  unhappy  !  " — and  he.  bcgaji  to  shed  tears,  "  My 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  £3 

father,"  continued  he,  "  hide  nothing  from  me  ;  if  you  cannot 
tell  me  whether  I  shall  marry  Virginia,  tell  me  at  least  if  she 
loves  me  still,  surrounded  as  she  is  by  noblemen  who  speak  to 
the  king,  and  who  go  to  see  her. 

The  Old  Man. — Oh,  my  dear  friend  !  I  am  sure,  for  many 
reasons,  that  she  loves  you  ;  but  above  all,  because  she  is  vir- 
tuous. At  these  words  he  threw  himself  on  my  neck  in  a  trans- 
port of  joy. 

Paul. — But  do  you  think  that  the  women  of  Europe  are  false, 
as  they  are  represented  in  the  comedies  and  books  which  you 
have  lent  me  ? 

The  Old  Man. — Women  are  false  in  those  countries  where 
men  are  tyrants.  Violence  always  engenders  a  disposition  to 
deceive. 

Paul. — In  what  way  can  men  tyrannize  over  women  ? 

The  Old  Man. — In  giving  them  in  marriage  without  con- 
sulting their  inclinations  ; — in  uniting  a  young  girl  to  an  old 
man,  or  a  women  of  sensibility  to  a  frigid  and  indifferent 
husband. 

Paul. — Why  not  join  together  those  who  are  suited  to  each 
other, — the  young  to  the  young,  and  lovers  to  those  they  love  ? 

The  Old  Man. — Because  few  young  men  in  France  have 
property  enough  to  support  them  when  they  are  married,  and 
cannot  acquire  it  till  the  greater  part  of  their  life  is  passed. 
While  young,  they  seduce  the  wives  of  others,  and  when  they 
are  old,  they  cannot  secure  the  affections  of  their  own.  At 
first,  they  themselves  are  deceivers  :  and  afterwards,  they  are 
deceived  in  their  turn.  This  is  one  of  the  reactions  of  that 
eternal  justice,  by  which  the  world  is  governed  ;  an  excess  on 
one  side  is  sure  to  be  balanced  by  one  on  the  other.  Thus,  the 
greater  part  of  Europeans  pass  their  lives  in  this  twofold  irregu- 
larity, which  increases  everywhere  in  the  same  proportion  that 
wealth  is  accumulated  in  the  hands  of  a  few  individuals.  So- 
ciety ij  like  a  garden,  where  shrubs  cannot  grow  if  they  are 
overshadowed  by  lofty  trees  ;  but  there  is  this  wide  difference 
between  them, — that  the  beauty  of  a  garden  may  result  from 
the  admixture  of  a  small  number  of  forest  trees,  while  the 
prosperity  of  a  state  depends  on  the  multitude  and  equality  of 
its  citizens,  and  not  on  a  small  number  of  very  rich  men. 

Paul. — But  where  is  the  necessity  of  being  rich  in  order  to 
marry  ? 

The  Old  Man. — In  order  to  pass  through  life  in  abundance, 
without  being  obliged  to  work. 

But  yrhy  RQt  work?  I  am  sure  J  work  hard  enough. 


84  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

The  Old  Man. — In  Europe,  working  with  your  hands  is  con- 
sidered a  degradation  ;  it  is  compared  to  the  labor  performed 
by  a  machine.  The  occupation  of  cultivating  the  earth  is  the 
most  despised  of  all.  Even  an  artisan  is  held  in  more  estima- 
tion than  a  peasant. 

Paul. — What !  do  you  mean  to  say  that  the  art  which  fur- 
nishes food  for  mankind  is  despised  in  Europe  ?  I  hardly  un- 
derstand you. 

The  Old  Man. — Oh  !  it  is  impossible  for  a  person  educated 
according  to  nature  to  form  an  idea  of  the  depraved  state  of 
society.  It  is  easy  to  form  a  precise  notion  of  order,  but  not 
of  disorder.  Beauty,  virtue,  happiness,  have  all  their  defined 
proportions  ;  deformity,  vice,  and  misery  have  none. 

Paul. — The  rich  then  are  always  very  happy  !  They  meet 
with  no  obstacles  to  the  fulfilment  of  their  wishes,  and  they 
can  lavish  happiness  on  those  whom  they  love. 

The  Old  Man. — Far  from  it,  my  son  !  They  are,  for  the 
most  part  satiated  with  pleasure,  for  this  very  reason, — that  it 
costs  them  no  trouble.  Have  you  never  yourself  experienced 
how  much  the  pleasure  of  repose  is  increased  by  fatigue  ;  that 
of  eating,  by  hunger ;  or  that  of  drinking,  by  thirst  ?  The 
pleasure  also  of  loving  and  being  beloved  is  only  to  be  acquired 
by  innumerable  privations  and  sacrifices.  Wealth,  by  antici- 
pating all  their  necessities,  deprives  its  possessors  of  all  these 
pleasures.  To  this  ennui,  consequent  upon  satiety,  may  also 
be  added  the  pride  which  springs  from  their  opulence,  and 
which  is  wounded  by  the  most  trifling  privation,  when  the 
greatest  enjoyments  have  ceased  to  charm.  The  perfume  of  a 
thousand  roses  gives  pleasure  but  for. a  moment ;  but  the  pain 
occasioned  by  a  single  thorn  endures  long  after  the  infliction 
of  the  wound.  A  single  evil  in  the  midst  of  their  pleasures  is 
to  the  rich  like  a  thorn  among  flowers  ;  to  the  poor,  on  the  con- 
trary, one  pleasure  amidst  all  their  troubles  is  a  flower  among 
a  wilderness  of  thorns ;  they  have  a  most  lively  enjoyment  of 
it.  The  effect  of  everything  is  increased  by  contrast ;  nature 
has  balanced  all  things.  Which  condition,  after  all,  do  you 
consider  preferable, — to  have  scarcely  anything  to  hope,  and 
everything  to  fear,  or  to  have  everything  to  hope  and  nothing 
to  fear  ?  The  former  condition  is  that  of  the  rich,  the  latter, 
that  of  the  poor.  But  either  of  these  extremes  is  with  diffi- 
culty supported  by  man,  whose  happiness  consists  in  a  middle 
station  of  life,  in  union  with  virtue. 

Paul. — What  do  you  understand  by  virtue? 

The  Old  Man , — To  you,  my  son,  who  .support  your  family 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  85 

by  your  labor,  it  need  hardly  be  defined.  Virtue  consists  in 
endeavoring  to  do  all  the  good  we  can  to  others,  with  an  ulti- 
mate intentiqn  of  pleasing  God  alone. 

Paul. — Oh  !  how  virtuous,  then,  is  Virginia !  Virtue  led 
her  to  seek  for  riches,  that  she  might  practice  benevolence. 
Virtue  induced  her  to  quit  this  island,  and  virtue  will  bring  her 
back  to  it. 

The  idea  of  her  speedy  return  firing  the  imagination  of  this 
young  man,  all  his  anxieties  suddenly  vanished.  Virginia,  he 
was  persuaded,  had  not  written,  because  she  would  soon  ar- 
rive. It  took  so  little  time  to  come  from  Europe  with  a  fair 
wind  !  Then  he  enumerated  the  vessels  which  had  made  this 
passage  of  four  thousand  five  hundred  leagues  in  less  than 
three  months  ;  and  perhaps  the  vessel  in  which  Virginia  had 
embarked  might  not  be  more  than  two.  Shipbuilders  were 
now  so  ingenious,  and  sailors  were  so  expert !  He  then  talked 
to  me  of  the  arrangements  he  intended  to  make  for  her  recep- 
tion, of  the  new  house  he  would  build  for  her,  and  of  the  pleas- 
ures and  surprises  which  he  would  contrive  for  her  every  day, 
when  she  was  his  wife.  His  wife  !  The  idea  filled  him  with 
ecstasy.  "At  least,  my  dear  father,"  said  he,  "you  shall  then 
do  no  more  work  than  you  please.  As  Virginia  will  be  rich, 
we  shall  have  plenty  of  negroes,  and  they  shall  work  for  you. 
You  shall  always  live  with  us,  and  have  no  other  care  than  to 
amuse  yourself  and  be  happy ; " — and,  his  heart  throbbing  with 
joy,  he  flew  to  communicate  these  exquisite  anticipations  to 
his  family. 

In  a  short  time,  however,  these  enchanting  hopes  were  suc- 
ceeded by  the  most  cruel  apprehensions.  It  is  always  the  effect 
of  violent  passions  to  throw  the  soul  into  opposite  extremes. 
Paul  returned  the  next  day  to  my  dwelling,  overwhelmed  with 
melancholy,  and  said  to  me, — "  I  hear  nothing  from  Virginia. 
Had  she  left  Europe  she  would  have  written  me  word  of  her 
departure.  Ah  !  the  reports  which  I  have  heard  concerning 
her  are  but  too  well  founded.  Her  aunt  has  married  her  to 
some -great  lord.  She,  like  others,  has  been  undone  by  the  love 
of  riches.  In  those  books  which  paint  women  so  well,  virtue  is 
treated  but  as  a  subject  of  romance.  If  Virginia  had  been  vir- 
tuous, she  would  never  have  forsaken  her  mother  and  me.  I 
do  nothing  but  think  of  her,  and  she  has  forgotten  me  I  am 
wretched,  and  she  is  diverting  herself.  The  thought  distracts 
me  ;  I  cannot  bear  myself !  Would  to  Heaven  that  war  were 
declared  in  India  !  I  would  go  there  and  die." 

"  My  son,"  I  answered,  "  that  courage  which  prompts  us  on 

32 


86  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

to  court  death  is  but  the  courage  of  a  moment,  and  is  often  ex- 
cited only  by  the  vain  applause  of  men,  or  by  the  hope  of  post- 
humous renown.  There  is  another  description  of  courage,  rarer 
and  more  necessary,  which  enables  us  to  support,  without  wit- 
ness and  without  applause,  the  vexations  of  life  ;  this  virtue  is 
patience.  Relying  for  support,  not  upon  the  opinions  of  others, 
or  the  impulse  of  the  passions,  but  upon  the  will  of  God,  patience 
is  the  courage  of  virtue," 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  he,  "  I  am  then  without  virtue  !  Everything 
overwhelms  me  and  drives  me  to  despair." — "  Equal,  constant, 
and  invariable  virtue,"  I  replied,  "  belongs  not  to  man.  In  the 
midst  of  the  many  passions  which  agitate  us,  our  reason  is  dis- 
ordered and  obscure :  but  there  is  an  ever-burning  lamp,  at 
which  we  can  rekindle  its  flame  ;  and  that  is,  literature. 

"Literature,  my  dear  son,  is  the  gift  of  Heaven,  a  ray  of 
that  wisdom  by  which  the  universe  is  governed,  and  which  man, 
inspired  by  a  celestial  intelligence,  has  drawn  down  to  earth. 
Like  the  rays  of  the  sun,  it  enlightens  us,  it  rejoices  us,  it 
warms  us  with  a  heavenly  flame,  and  seems,  in  some  sort,  like 
the  element  of  fire,  to  bend  all  nature  to  our  use.  By  its  means 
we  are  enabled  to  bring  around  us  all  things,  all  places,  all  men, 
and  all  times.  It  assists  us  to  regulate  our  manners  and  our 
life.  By  its  aid,  too,  our  passions  are  calmed,  vice  is  suppressed, 
and  virtue  encouraged  by  the  memorable  examples  of  great 
and  good  men  which  it  has  handed  down  to  us,  and  whose 
time-honored  images  it  ever  brings  before  our  eyes.  Literature 
is  a  daughter  of  Heaven  who  has  descended  upon  earth  to 
soften  and  to  charm  away  all  the  evils  of  the  human  race.  The 
greatest  writers  have  ever  appeared  in  the  worst  times, — in 
times  in  which  society  can  hardly  be  held  together, — the  times 
of  barbarism  and  every  species  of  depravity.  My  son,  literature 
has  consoled  an  infinite  number  of  men  more  unhappy  than 
yourself :  Xenophon,  banished  from  his  country  afte"r  having 
saved  to  her  ten  thousand  of  her  sons ;  Scipio  Africanus, 
wearied  to  death  by  the  calumnies  of  the  Romans :  Lucullus, 
tortjjented  by  their  cabals  ;  and  Catinat,  by  the  ingratitude  of 
a  court.  The  Greeks,  with  their  never-failing  ingenuity,  as- 
signed to  each  of  the  Muses  a  portion  of  the  great  circle  of 
human  intelligence  for  her  especial  superintendence  ;  we  ought 
in  the  same  manner,  to  give  up  to  them  the  regulation  of  our 
passions,  to  bring  them  under  proper  restraint.  Literature  in 
this  imaginative  guise,  would  thus  fulfil,  in  relation  to  the 
powers  of  the  soul,  the  same  functions  as  the  Hours,  who  yoked 
and  conducted  the  chariot  of  the  Sun, 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  87 

"  Have  recourse  to  your  books,  then,  my  son.  The  wise 
men  who  have  written  before  our  days  are  travellers  who  have 
preceded  us  in  the  paths  of  misfortune,  and  who  stretch  out  a 
friendly  hand  towards  us,  and  invite  us  to  join  their  society, 
when  we  are  abandoned  by  everything  else.  A  good  book  is 
a  good  friend." 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Paul,  "  I  stood  in  no  need  of  books  when  Vir- 
ginia was  here,  and  she  had  studied  as  little  as  myself ;  but 
when  she  looked  at  me,  and  called  me  her  friend,  I  could  not 
feel  unhappy." 

"  Undoubtedly,"  said  I,  "  there  is  no  friend  so  agreeable  as 
a  mistress  by  whom  we  are  beloved.  There  is,  moreover,  in 
woman  a  liveliness  and  gayety,  which  powerfully  tend  to  dissi- 
pate the  melancholy  feelings  of  a  man  ;  her  presence  drives 
away  the  dark  phantoms  of  imagination  produced  by  over- 
reflection.  Upon  her  countenance  sit  soft  attractions  and  ten- 
der confidence.  What  joy  is  not  heightened  when  it  is  shared 
by  her  ?  What  brow  is  not  unbent  by  her  smiles  ?  What  anger 
can  resist  her  tears  ?  Virginia  will  return  with  more  philosophy 
than  you,  and  will  be  quite  surprised  to  find  the  garden  so  un- 
finished ; — she  who  could  think  of  its  embellishments  in  spite 
of  all  the  persecutions  of  her  aunt,  and  when  far  from  her 
mother  and  from  you." 

The  idea  of  Virginia's  speedy  return  reanimated  the  droop- 
ing spirits  of  her  lover,  and  he  resumed  his  rural  occupations, 
happy  amidst  his  toils,  in  the  reflection  that  they  would  soon 
find  a  termination  so  dear  to  the  wishes  of  his  heart. 

One  morning,  at  break  of  clay,  (it  was  the  24th  of  Decem- 
ber, 1744),  Paul,  when  he  arose,  perceived  a  white  flag  hoisted 
upon  the  Mountain  of  Discovery.  This  flag  he  knew  to  be  the 
signal  of  a  vessel  descried  at  sea.  He  instantly  flew  to  the 
town  to  learn  if  this  vessel  brought  any  tidings  of  Virginia,  and 
waited  there  till  the  return  of  the  pilot,  who  was  gone,  accord- 
ing to  custom,  to  board  the  ship.  The  pilot  did  not  return  till 
the  evening,  when  he  brought  the  governor  information  that 
the  signalled  vessel  was  the  Saint-Geran,  of  seven  hundred 
tons  burden,  and  commanded  by  a  captain  of  the  name  of 
Aubin  ;  that  she  was  now  four  leagues  out  at  sea,  but  would 
probably  anchor  at  Port  Louis  the  following  afternoon,  if  the 
wind  became  fair  :  at  present  there  was  a  calm.  The  pilot  then 
handed  to  the  governor  a  number  of  letters  which  the  Saint- 
Geran  had  brought  from  France,  among  which  was  one  ad- 
dressed to  Madame  cle  la  Tour,  in  the  handwriting  of  Virginia. 
Paul  seized  upon  the  letter,  kissed  it  with  transport,  and  plac- 


88  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

ing  it  in  his  bosom,  flew  to  the  plantation.  No  sooner  did  he 
perceive  from  a  distance  the  family,  who  were  awaiting  his 
return  upon  the  rock  of  Adieus,  than  he  waved  the  letter  aloft 
in  the  air,  without  being  able  to  utter  a  word.  No  sooner  was 
the  seal  broken,  than  they  all  crowded  round  Madame  de  la 
Tour,  to  hear  the  letter  read.  Virginia  informed  her  mother 
that  she  had  experienced  much  ill-usage  from  her  aunt,  who, 
after  having  in  vain  urged  her  to  a  marriage  against  her  in- 
clination, had  disinherited  her,  and  had  sent  her  back  at  a 
time  when  she  would  probably  reach  the  Mauritius  during  the 
hurricane  season.  In  vain,  she  added,  had  she  endeavored  to 
soften  her  aunt,  by  representing  what  she  owed  to  her  mother, 
and  to  her  early  habits  ;  she  was  treated  as  a  romantic  girl, 
•whose  head  had  been  turned  by  novels.  She  could  now  only 
think  of  the  joy  of  again  seeing  and  embracing  her  beloved 
family,  and  would  have  gratified  her  ardent  desire  at  once,  by 
landing  in  the  pilot's  boat,  if  the  captain  had  allowed  her  :  but 
that  he  had  objected,  on  account  of  the  distance,  and  of  a 
heavy  swell,  which,  notwithstanding  the  calm,  reigned  in  the 
open  sea. 

As  soon  as  the  letter  was  finished,  the  whole  of  the  family, 
transported  with  joy,  repeatedly  exclaimed,  "  Virginia  is  ar- 
rived ! "  and  mistresses  and  servants  embraced  each  other. 
Madame  de  la  Tour  said  to  Paul, — "  My  son,  go  and  inform 
our  neighbor  of  Virginia's  arrival."  Domingo  immediately 
lighted  a  torch  of  bois  de  ronde,  and  he  and  Paul  bent  their 
way  towards  my  dwelling. 

It  was  about  ten  o'clock  at  night,  and  I  was  just  going  to 
extinguish  my  lamp,  and  retire  to  rest,  when  I  perceived, 
through  the  palisades  round  my  cottage,  a  light  in  the  woods. 
Soon  after,  I  heard  the  voice  of  Paul  calling  me.  I  instantly 
arose,  and  had  hardly  dressed  myself,  when  Paul,  almost  beside 
himself,  and  panting  for  breath,  sprang  on  my  neck,  crying, — 
"  Come  along,  come  along.  Virginia  is  arrived.  Let  us  go  to 
the  port ;  the  vessel  will  anchor  at  break  of  day." 

Scarcely  had  he  uttered  the  words,  when  we  set  off.  As 
we  were  passing  through  the  woods  of  the  Sloping  Mountain, 
and  were  already  on  the  road  which  leads  from  the  Shaddock 
Grove  to  the  port,  I  heard  some  one  walking  behind  us.  It 
proved  to  be  a  negro,  and  he  was  advancing  with  hasty  steps. 
When  he  had  reached  us,  I  asked  him  whence  he  came,  and 
whither  he  was  going  with  such  expedition.  He  answered,  "  I 
come  from  that  part  of  the  island  called  Golden  Dust ;  and  am 
gent  to  the  port,  to  inform  the  governor  that  a  ship  from  France 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  89 

has  anchored  under  the  Isle  of  Amber.  She  is  firing  guns  of 
distress,  for  the  sea  is  very  rough."  Having  said  this,  the 
man  left  us,  and  pursued  his  journey  without  any  further 
delay. 

I  then  said  to  Paul, — "  Let  us  go  towards  the  quarter  of 
the  Golden  Dust,  and  meet  Virginia  there.  It  is  not  more 
than  three  leagues  from  hence."  We  accordingly  bent  out 
course  towards  the  northern  part  of  the  island.  The  heat  was 
suffocating.  The  moon  had  risen,  and  was  surrounded  by 
three  large  black  circles.  A  frightful  darkness  shrouded  the 
sky  ;  but  the  frequent  flashes  of  lightning  discovered  to  us 
long  rows  of  thick  and  gloomy  clouds,  hanging  very  low,  and 
heaped  together  over  the  centre  of  the  island,  being  driven  in 
with  great  rapidity  from  the  ocean,  although  not  a  breath  of 
air  was  perceptible  upon  the  land.  As  we  walked  along,  we 
thought  we  heard  peals  of  thunder ;  but,  on  listening  more 
attentively,  we  perceived  that  it  was  the  sound  of  cannon  at  a 
distance,  repeated  by  the  echoes.  These  ominous  sounds, 
joined  to  the  tempestuous  aspect  of  the  heavens,  made  me 
shudder.  I  had  little  doubt  of  their  being  signals  of  dis- 
tress from  a  ship  in  danger.  In  about  half  an  hour  the  firing 
ceased,  and  I  found  the  silence  still  more  appalling  than  the 
dismal  sounds  which  had  preceded  it. 

We  hastened  on  without  uttering  a  word,  or  daring  to  com- 
municate to  each  other  our  mutual  apprehensions.  At  mid- 
night, by  great  exertion,  we  arrived  at  the  sea-shore,  in  that 
part  of  the  island  called  Golden  Dust.  The  billows  were 
breaking  against  the  beach  with  a  horrible  noise,  covering  the 
rocks  and  the  strand  with  foam  of  a  dazzling  whiteness,  blended 
with  sparks  of  fire.  By  these  phosphoric  gleams  we  distin- 
guished, notwithstanding  the  darkness,  a  number  of  fishing 
canoes,  drawn  up  high  upon  the  beach. 

At  the  entrance  of  a  wood,  a  short  distance  from  us,  we 
saw  a  fire,  round  which  a  party  of  the  inhabitants  were  assem- 
bled. We  repaired  thither,  in  order  to  rest  ourselves  till  the 
morning.  While  we  were  seated  near  this  fire,  one  of  the 
standers-by  related,  that  late  in  the  afternoon  he  had  seen  a 
vessel  in  the  open  sea,  driven  towards  the  island  by  the  cur- 
rents ;  that  the  night  had  hidden  it  from  his  view ;  and  that 
two  hours  after  sunset  he  had  heard  the  firing  of  signal  guns 
of  distress,  but  that  the  surf  was  so  high,  that  it  was  impossible 
to  launch  a  boat  to  go  off  to  her ;  that  a  short  time  after,  he 
thought  he  perceived  the  glimmering  of  the  watch-lights  on 
board  the  vessel,  which,  he  feared,  by  its  having  approached  so 


90  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

near  the  coast,  had  steered  between  the  main  land  and  the 
little  island  of  Amber,  mistaking  the  latter  for  the  Point  of 
Endeavor,  near  which  vessels  pass  in  order  to  gain  Port  Louis  ; 
and  that,  if  this  were  the  case,  which,  however,  he  would  not 
take  upon  himself  to  be  certain  of,  the  ship,  he  thought,  was  in 
very  great  danger.  Another  islander  then  informed  us,  that  he 
had  frequently  crossed  the  channel  which  separates  the  isle  of 
Amber  from  the  coast,  and  had  sounded  it ;  that  the  anchorage 
was  very  good,  and  that  the  ship  would  there  lie  as  safely  as 
in  the  best  harbor.  "  I  would  stake  all  I  am  worth  upon  it," 
said  he,  "  and  if  I  were  on  board,  I  should  sleep  as  sound  as 
on  shore."  A  third  bystander  declared  that  it  was  impossible 
for  the  ship  to  enter  that  channel,  which  was  scarcely  navigable 
for  a  boat.  He  was  certain,  he  said,  that  he  had  seen  the 
vessel  at  anchor  beyond  the  isle  of  Amber ;  so  that,  if  the  wind 
arose  in  the  morning,  she  could  either  put  to  sea,  or  gain  the 
harbor.  Other  inhabitants  gave  different  opinions  upon  this 
subject,  which  they  continued  to  discuss  in  the  usual  desultory 
manner  of  the  indolent  Creoles.  Paul  and  I  observed  a  pro- 
found silence.  We  remained  on  this  spot  till  break  of  day,  but 
the  weather  was  too  hazy  to  admit  of  our  distinguishing  any 
object  at  sea,  everything  being  covered  with  fog.  All  we 
could  descry  to  seaward  was  a  dark  cloud,  which  they  told  us 
was  the  isle  of  Amber,  at  the  distance  of  a  quarter  of  a  league 
from  the  coast.  On  this  gloomy  day  we  could  only  discern  the 
point  of  land  on  which  we  were  standing,  and  the  peaks  of 
some  inland  mountains,  which  started  out  occasionally  from 
the  midst  of  the  clouds  that  hung  around  them. 

At  about  seven  in  the  morning  we  heard  the  sound  of 
drums  in  the  woods  :  it  announced  the  approach  of  the  governor, 
Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais,  who  soon  after  arrived  on  horse- 
back, at  the  head  of  a  detachment  of  soldiers  armed  with  mus- 
kets, and  a  crowd  of  islanders  and  negroes.  He  drew  up  his 
soldiers  upon  the  beach,  and  ordered  them  to  make  a  general 
discharge.  This  was  no  sooner  done,  than  we  perceived  a 
glimmering  light  upon  the  water  which  was  instantly  followed 
by  the  report  of  a  cannon.  We  judged  that  the  ship  was  at  no 
great  distance  and  all  ran  towards  that  part  whence  the  light 
and  sound  proceeded.  We  now  discerned  through  the  fog  the 
hull  and  yards  of  a  large  vessel.  We  were  so  near  to  her,  that 
notwithstanding  the  tumult  of  the  waves,  we  could  distinctly 
hear  the  whistle  of  the  boatswain,  and  the  shouts  of  the  sailors, 
who  cried  out  three  times,  VIVE  LE  ROI  !  this  being  the  cry  of 
the  French  in  extreme  danger,  as  well  as  in  exuberant  joy  ; — as 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  gi 

though  they  wished  to  Call  their  prince  to  their  aid,  or  to  testify 
to  him  that  they  are  prepared  to  lay  down  their  lives  in  his 
service. 

As  soon  as  the  Saint-Geran  perceived  that  we  were  near 
enough  to  render  her  assistance,  she  continued  to  fire  guns 
regularly  at  intervals  of  three  minutes.  Monsieur  de  la  Bour- 
donnais  caused  great  fires  to  be  lighted  at  certain  distances 
upon  the  strand,  and  sent  to  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, in  search  of  provisions,  planks,  cables,  and  empty  bar- 
rels. A  number  of  people  soon  arrived,  accompanied  by  their 
negroes  loaded  with  provisions  and  cordage,  which  they  had 
brought  from  the  plantations  of  Golden  Dust,  from  the  district 
of  La  Flaque,  and  from  the  river  c-f  the  Rampart.  One  of  the 
most  aged  of  these  planters,  approaching  the  governor,  said  to 
him, — "  We  have  heard  all  night  hollow  noises  in  the  moun- 
tain ;  in  the  woods,  the  leaves  of  the  trees  are  shaken,  although 
there  is  no  wind ;  the  sea-birds  seek  refuge  upon  the  land  :  it 
is  certain  that  all  these  signs  announce  a  hurricane."  "  Well, 
my  friends,"  answered  the  governor,  "  we  are  prepared  for  it, 
and  no  doubt  the  vessel  is  also." 

Everything,  indeed,  presaged  the  near  approach  of  the 
hurricane.  The  centre  of  the  clouds  in  the  zenith  was  of  a 
dismal  black,  while  their  skirts  were  tinged  with  a  copper- 
colored  hue.  The  air  resounded  with  the  cries  of  the  tropic- 
birds,  petrels,  frigate-birds,  and  innumerable  other  sea-fowl, 
which  notwithstanding  the  obscurity  of  the  atmosphere,  were 
seen  coming  from  every  point  of  the  horizon,  to  seek  for 
shelter  in  the  island. 

Towards  nine  in  the  morning  we  heard  in  the  direction  of 
the  ocean  the  most  terrific  noise,  like  the  sound  of  thunder 
mingled  with  that  of  torrents  rushing  down  the  steeps  of  lofty 
mountains.  A  general  cry  was  heard  of,  "  There  is  the  hurri- 
cane !  "  and  the  next  moment  a  frightful  gust  of  wind  dispelled 
the  fog  which  covered  the  isle  of  Amber  and  its  channel.  The 
Saint-Geran  then  presented  herself  to  our  view,  her  deck 
crowded  with  people,  her  yards  and  topmasts  lowered  down, 
and  her  flag  half-mast  high,  moored  by  four  cables  at  her  bow 
and  one  at  her  stern.  She  had  anchored  between  the  isle  of 
Amber  and  the  main  land,  inside  the  chain  of  reefs  which  en- 
circles the  island,  and  which  she  had  passed  through  in  a  place 
where  no  vessel  had  ever  passed  before.  She  presented  her 
head  to  the  waves  that  rolled  in  from  the  open  sea,  and  as  each 
billow  rushed  into  the  narrow  strait  where  she  lay,  her  bow 
lifted  to  such  a  degree  as  to  show  her  keel  :  and  at  the  same 


92  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

moment  her  stern,  plunging  into  the  water,  disappeared  alto- 
gether from  our  sight,  as  if  it  were  swallowed  up  by  the  surges. 
In  this  position,  driven  by  the  winds  and  waves  towards  the 
shore,  it  was  equally  impossible  for  her  to  return  by  the  passage 
through  which  she  had  made  her  way ;  or,  by  cutting  her 
cables,  to  strand  herself  upon  the  beach,  from  which  she  was 
separated  by  sandbanks  and  reefs  of  rocks.  Every  billow 
which  broke  upon  the  coast  advanced  roaring  to  the  bottom  of 
the  bay,  throwing  up  heaps  of  shingle  to  the  distance  of  fifty  feet 
upon  the  land;  then,  rushing  back,  laid  bare  its  sandy  bed, 
from  which  it  rolled  immense  stones,  with  a  hoarse  and  dismal 
noise.  The  sea,  swelled  by  the  violence  cf  the  wind,  rose 
higher  every  moment ;  and  the  whole  channel  between  this 
island  and  the  isle  of  Amber  was  soon  one  vast  sheet  of  white 
foam,  full  of  yawning  pits  of  black  and  deep  billows.  Heaps 
of  this  foam,  more  than  six  feet  high,  were  piled  up  at  the 
bottom  of  the  bay  ;  and  the  winds  which  swept  its  surface  car- 
ried masses  of  it  over  the  steep  sea-bank,  scattering  it  upon  the 
land  to  the  distance  of  half  a  league.  These  innumerable 
white  flakes,  driven  horizontally  even  to  the  very  foot  of  the 
mountains,  looked  like  snow  issuing  from  the  bosom  of  the 
ocean.  The  appearance  of  the  horizon  portended  a  lasting 
tempest ;  the  sky  and  the  water  seemed  blended  together. 
Thick  masses  of  clouds,  of  a  frightful  form,  swept  across  the 
zenith  with  the  swiftness  of  birds,  while  others  appeared  motion- 
less as  rocks.  Not  a  single  spot  of  blue  sky  could  be  discerned 
in  the  whole  firmament ;  and  a  pale  yellow  gleam  only  light- 
ened up  all  the  objects  of  the  earth,  the  sea,  and  the  skies. 

From  the  violent  rolling  of  the  ship,  what  we  all  dreaded 
happened  at  last.  The  cables  which  held  her  bow  were  torn 
away  :  she  then  swung  to  a  single  hawser,  and  was  instantly 
dashed  upon  the  rocks,  at  the  distance  of  half  a  cable's  length 
from  the  shore.  A  general  cry  of  horror  issued  from  the  spec- 
tators. Paul  rushed  forward  to  throw  himself  into  the  sea, 
when,  seizing  him  by  the  ann,  "  My  son,"  I  exclaimed,  "would 
you  perish  ?" — "  Let  me  go  to  save  her,"  he  cried,  "or  let  me 
die  ! "  Seeing  that  despair  had  deprived  him  of  reason,  Dom- 
ingo and  I,  in  order  to  preserve  him,  fastened  a  long  cord 
around  his  waist,  and  held  it  fast  by  the  end.  Paul  then  pre- 
cipitated himself  towards  the  Saint-Geran,  now  swimming, 
and  now  walking  upon  the  rocks.  Sometimes  he  had  hopes 
of  reaching  the  vessel,  which  the  sea,  by  the  reflux  of  its  waves, 
had  left  almost  dry,  so  that  you  could  have  walked  round  it  on 
foot;  but  suddenly  the  billows.,  returning  with  fresh  fury, 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


93 


shrouded  it  beneath  mountains  of  water,  which  then  lifted  it 
upright  upon  its  keel.  The  breakers  at  the  same  moment 
threw  the  unfortunate  Paul  far  upon  the  beach,  his  legs  bathed 
in  blood,  his  bosom  wounded,  and  himself  half  dead.  The 
moment  he  had  recovered  the  use  of  his  senses,  he  arose,  and 
returned  with  new  ardor  towards  the  vessel,  the  parts  of  which 
now  yawned  asunder  from  the  violent  strokes  of  the  billows. 
The  crew  then,  despairing  of  their  safety,  threw  themselves  in 
crowds  into  the  sea,  upon  yards,  planks,  hen-coops,  tables,  and 
barrels.  At  this  moment  we  beheld  an  object  which  wrung 
our  hearts  with  grief  and  pity  ;  a  young  lady  appeared  in  the 
stern-gallery  of  the  Saint-Geran,  stretching  out  her  arms  to- 
wards him  who  was  making  so  many  efforts  to  join  her.  It 
was  Virginia.  She  had  discovered  her  lover  by  his  intrepidity. 
The  sight  of  this  amiable  girl,  exposed  to  such  horrible  danger, 
filled  us  with  unutterable  despair.  As  for  Virginia,  with  a  firm 
and  dignified  mien,  she  waved  her  hand,  as  if  bidding  us  an 

o  o 

eternal  farewell.  All  the  sailors  had  flung  themselves  into  the 
sea,  except  one,  who  still  remained  upon  the  deck,  and  who 
was  naked,  and  strong  as  Hercules.  This  man  approached 
Virginia  with  respect,  and,  kneeling  at  her  feet,  attempted  to 
force  her  to  throw  off  her  clothes ;  but  she  repulsed  him  with 
modesty,  and  turned  away  her  head.  Then  were  heard  re- 
doubled cries  from  the  spectators,  "  Save  her  !  — save  her  !  -—do 
not  leave  her ! "  But  at  that  moment  a  mountain  billow,  of 
enormous  magnitude,  ingulfed  itself  beween  the  isle  of  Amber 
and  the  coast,  and  menaced  the  shattered  vessel,  towards 
which  it  rolled  bellowing,  with  its  black  sides  and  foaming 
head.  At  this  terrible  sight  the  sailor  flung  himself  into  the 
seaj  and  Virginia,  seeing  death  inevitable,  crossed  her  hands 
upon  her  breast,  and  raising  upwards  her  serene  and  beau- 
teous eyes,  seemed  an  angel  prepared  to  take  her  flight  to 
Heaven. 

Oh,  clay  of  horror  !  Alas  everything  was  swallowed  up  by 
the  relentless  billows.  The  surge  threw  some  of  the  specta- 
tors, whom  an  impulse  of  humanity  had  prompted  to  advance 
towards  Virginia,  far  upon  the  beach,  and  also  the  sailor  who 
had  endeavored  to  save  her  life.  This  man,  who  had  escaped 
from  almost  certain  death,  kneeling  on  the  sand,  exclaimed, — 
"  Oh,  my  God  1  thou  hast  saved  my  life,  but  I  would  have 
given  it  willingly  for  that  excellent  young  lady,  who  had  perse- 
vered in  not  undressing  herself  as  I  had  done."  Domingo 
and  I  drew  the  unfortunate  Paul  to  the  shore.  He  was  sense- 
less, and  blood  was  flowing  from  his  mouth  and  ears.  The 


94  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

governor  ordered  him  to  be  put  into  the  hands  of  a  surgeon, 
while  we,  on  our  part,  wandered  along  the  beach,  in  hopes 
that  the  sea  would  throw  up  the  corpse  of  Virginia.  But  the 
wind  having  suddenly  changed,  as  it  frequently  happens  dur- 
ing hurricanes,  our  search  was  in  vain  :  and  we  had  the  grief  of 
thinking  that  we  should  not  be  able  to  bestow  on  this  sweet 
and  unfortunate  girl  the  last  sad  duties.  We  retired  from  the 
spot  overwhelmed  with  dismay,  and  our  minds  wholly  occupied 
by  one  cruel  loss,  although  numbers  had  perished  in  the  wreck. 
Some  of  the  spectators  seemed  tempted,  from  the  fatal  destiny 
of  this  virtuous  girl,  to  doubt  the  existence  of  Providence  :  for 
there  are  in  life  such  terrible,  such  unmerited  evils,  that  even 
the  hope  of  the  wise  is  sometimes  shaken. 

In  the  mean  time  Paul,  who  began  to  recover  his  senses, 
was  taken  to  a  house  in  the  neighborhood,  till  he  was  in  a  fit 
state  to  be  removed  to  his  own  home.  Thither  I  bent  my  way 
with  Domingo  to  discharge  the  melancholy  duty  of  preparing 
Virginia's  mother  and  her  friend  for  the  disastrous  event  which 
had  happened.  When  we  had  reached  the  entrance  of  the 
valley  of  the  river  of  Fan-Palms,  some  negroes  informed  us 
that  the  sea  had  thrown  up  many  pieces  of  the  wreck  in  the 
opposite  bay.  We  descended  towards  it  and  one  of  the  first 
objects  that  struck  my  sight  upon  the  beach  was  the  corpse  of 
Virginia.  The  body  was  half  covered  with  sand,  and  preserved 
the  attitude  in  which  we  had  seen  her  perish.  Her  features 
were  not  sensibly  changed,  her  eyes  were  closed,  and  her 
countenance  was  still  serene  ;  but  the  pale  purple  hues  of 
death  were  blended  on  her  cheek  with  the  blush  of  virgin  mo- 
desty. One  of  her  hands  was  placed  upon  her  clothes  ;  and 
the  other,  which  she  held  on  her  heart,  was  fast  closed,  and  so 
stiffened,  that  it  was  with  difficulty  that  I  took  from  its  grasp  a 
small  box.  How  great  was  my  emotion  when  I  saw  that  it 
contained  the  picture  of  Paul,  which  she  had  promised  him 
never  to  part  with  while  she  lived !  At  the  sight  of  this  last 
mark  of  the  fidelity  a.nd  tenderness  of  the  unfortunate  girl,  I 
wept  bitterly.  As  for  Domingo,  he  beat  his  breast,  and 
pierced  the  air  with  his  shrieks.  With  heavy  hearts  we  then 
carried  the  body  of  Vriginia  to  a  fisherman's  hut,  and  gave  it 
in  charge  of  some  poor  Malabar  women,  who  carefully  washed 
away  the  sand. 

While  they  were  employed  in  this  melancholy  office,  we 
ascended  the  hill  with  trembling  steps  to  the  plantation.  We 
found  Madame  de  la  Tour  and  Margaret  at  prayer ;  hourly 
expecting  to  have  tidings  from  the  ship.  As  soon  as  Madame 


PAUL  AND  VIRGTNTA. 


95 


de  la  Tour  saw  me  coming,  she  eagerly  cried, —  "  Where  is  my 
daughter — my  dear  daughter, — my  child  ?  "  My  silence  and  my 
tears  apprised  her  of  her  misfortune.  She  was  instantly  seized 
with  convulsive  stopping  of  the  breath  and  agonizing  pains,  and 
her  voice  was  only  heard  in  sighs  and  groans.  Margaret  cried, 
"  Where  is  my  son  ?  I  do  not  see  my  son  !  "  and  fainted.  We 
*'  ran  to  her  assistance.  In  a  short  time  she  recovered,  and 
being  assured  that  Paul  was  safe,  and  under  the  care  of  the 
governer,  she  thought  of  nothing  but  of  succoring  her  friend, 
who  recovered  from  one  fainting  fit  only  to  fall  into  another. 
Madame  de  la  Tour  passed  the  whole  night  in  these  cruel 
sufferings,  and  I  became  convinced  that  there  was  no  sorrow 
like  that  of  a  mother.  When  she  recovered  her  senses,  she 
cast  a  fixed,  unconscious  look  towards  heaven.  In  vain  her 
friend  and  myself  pressed  her  hands  in  ours ;  in  vain  we  called 
upon  her  by  the  most  tender  names;  she  appeared  wholly  in- 
sensible to  these  testimonials  of  our  affection,  and  no  sound 
issued  from  her  oppressed  bosom,  but  deep  and  hollow  moans. 

During  the  morning  Paul  was  carried  home  in  a  palanquin. 
He  had  now  recovered  the  use  of  his  reason,  but  was  unable 
to  utter  a  word.  His  interview  with  his  mother  and  Madame 
de  la  Tour,  which  I  had  dreaded,  produced  a  better  effect  than 
all  my  cares.  A  ray  of  consolation  gleamed  on  the  counte- 
ance  of  the  two  unfortunate  mothers.  They  pressed  close  to 
him,  clasped  him  in  their  arms,  and  kissed  him  :  their  tears, 
which  excess  of  anguish  had  till  now  dried  up  at  the  source, 
began  to  flow.  Paul  mixed  his  tears  with  theirs  ;  and  nature 
having  thus  found  relief,  a  long  stupor  succeeded  the  convul- 
sive pangs  they  had  suffered,  and  afforded  them  a  lethargic 
repose,  which  was  in  truth,  like  that  of  death. 

Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais  sent  to  apprize  me  secretly 
that  the  corpse  of  Virginia  had  been  borne  to  the  town  by  his 
order,  from  whence  it  was  to  be  transferred  to  the  church  of 
the  Shaddock  Grove.  I  immediately  went  down  to  Port  Louis, 
where  I  found  a  multitude  assembled  from  all  parts  of  the 
island,  in  order  to  be  present  at  the  funeral  solemnity,  as  if 
the  isle  had  lost  that  which  was  nearest  and  dearest  to  it.  The 
vessels  in  the  harbor  had  their  yards  crossed,  their  flags  half- 
mast,  and  fired  guns  at  long  intervals.  A  body  of  grenadiers 
led  the  funeral  procession,  with  their  muskets  reversed,  their 
muffled  drums  sending  forth  slow  and  dismal  sounds.  Dejec- 
tion was  depicted  in  the  countenance  of  these  warriors,  who 
had  so  often  braved  death  in  battle  without  changing  color. 
Eight  young  ladies  of  considerable  families  of  the  island, 


96  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

dressed  in  white,  and  bearing  palm-branches  in  their  hands, 
carried  the  corpse  of  their  amiable  companion,  which  was  cov- 
ered with  flowers.  They  were  followed  by  a  chorus  of  children, 
chanting  hymns,  and  by  the  governor,  his  field  officer,  all  the 
principal  inhabitants  of  the  island,  and  an  immense  crowd  of 
people. 

This  imposing  funeral  solemnity  had  been  ordered  by  the 
administration  of  the  country,  which  was  desirous  of  doing 
honor  to  the  virtues  of  Virginia.  But  when  the  mournful  pro- 
cession arrived  at  the  foot  of  this  mountain,  within  sight  of 
those  cottages  of  which  she  had  been  so  long  an  inmate  and 
an  ornament,  diffusing  happiness  all  around  them,  and  which 
her  loss  had  now  filled  with  despair,  the  funeral  pomp  was  in- 
terrupted, the  hymns  and  anthems  ceased,  and  the  whole  plain 
resounded  with  sighs  and  lamentations.  Numbers  of  young 
girls  ran  from  the  neighboring  plantations,  to  touch  the  coffin 
of  Virginia  with  their  handkerchiefs,  and  with  chaplets  and 
crowns  of  flowers,  invoking  her  as  a  saint.  Mothers  asked  of 
heaven  a  child  like  Virginia  ;  lovers,  a  heart  as  faithful ;  the 
poor,  as  tender  a  friend ;  and  the  slaves  as  kind  a  mistress. 

When  the  procession  had  reached  the  place  of  interment, 
some  negresses  of  Madagascar  and  Caffres  of  Mozambique 
placed  a  number  of  baskets  of  fruit  around  the  corpse,  and 
hung  pieces  of  stuff  upon  the  adjoining  trees,  according  to 
the  custom  of  their  several  countries.  Some  Indian  women 
from  Bengal  also,  and  from  the  coast  of  Malabar,  brought 
cages  full  of  small  birds,  which  they  set  at  liberty  upon  her 
coffin.  Thus  deeply  did  the  loss  of  this  amiable  being  affect 
the  natives  of  different  countries,  and  thus  was  the  ritual  of 
various  religions  performed  over  the  tomb  of  unfortunate 
virtue. 

It  became  necessary  to  place  guards  round  her  grave,  and 
to  employ  gentle  force  in  removing  some  of  the  daughters  of 
the  neighboring  villagers,  who  endeavored  to  throw  themselves 
into  it,  saying  that  they  had  no  longer  any  consolation  to  hope 
for  in  this  world,  and  that  nothing  remained  for  them  but  to 
die  with  their  benefactress. 

On  the  western  side  of  the  church  of  the  Shaddock  Grove 
is  a  small  copse  of  bamboos,  where,  in  returning  from  mass 
with  her  mother  and  Margaret,  Virginia  loved  to  rest  herself, 
seated  by  the  side  of  him  whom  she  then  called  brother.  This 
was  the  spot  selected  for  her  interment. 

At  his  return  from  the  funeral  solemnity,  Monsieur  de  la 
Bourdonnais  came  up  here,  followed  by  part  of  his  numerous 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  gj 

retinue.  He  offered  Madame  de  la  Tour  and  her  friend  all 
the  assistance  it  was  in  his  power  to  bestow.  After  briefly  ex- 
pressing his  indignation  at  the  conduct  of  her  unnatural  aunt, 
he  advanced  to  Paul,  and  said  everything  which  he  thought 
most  likely  to  soothe  and  console  him.  "  Heaven  is.  my  wit- 
ness," said  he,  "  that  I  wished  to  insure  your  happiness,  and 
that  of  your  family.  My  dear  friend,  you  must  go  to  France ; 
I  will  obtain  a  commission  for  you,  and  during  your  absence  I 
will  take  the  same  care  of  your  mother  as  if  she  were  my 
own."  He  then  offered  him  his  hand  ;  but  Paul  drew  away 
and  turned  his  head  aside,  unable  to  bear  his  sight. 

I  remained  for  some  time  at  the  plantation  of  my  unfortunate 
friends,  that  I  might  render  to  them  and  Paul  those  offices  of 
friendship  that  were  in  my  power,  and  which  might  alleviate, 
though  they  could  not  heal  the  wounds  of  calamity.  At  the 
end  of  three  weeks  Paul  was  able  to  walk ;  but  his  mind 
seemed  to  droop  in  proportion  as  his  body  gathered  strength. 
He  was  insensible  to  everything ;  his  look  was  vacant ;  and 
when  asked  a  question,  he  made  no  reply.  Madame  de  la 
Tour,  who  was  dying,  said  to  him  often, — "  My  son,  while  I 
look  at  you,  I  think  I  see  my  dear  Virginia."  At  the  name  of 
Virginia  he  shuddered,  and  hastened  away  from  her,  notwith- 
standing the  entreaties  of  his  mother,  who  begged  him  to  come 
back  to  her  friend.  He  used  to  go  alone  into  the  garden,  and 
seat  himself  at  the  foot  of  Virginia's  cocoa-tree,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  fountain.  The  governor's  surgeon,  who  had 
shown  the  most  humane  attention  to  Paul  and  the  whole  family, 
told  us  that  in  order  to  cure  the  deep  melancholy  which  had 
taken  possession  of  his  mind,  we  must  allow  him  to  do-what- 
ever he  pleased,  without  contradiction  :  this,  he  said,  afforded 
the  only  chance  of  overcoming  the  silence  in  which  he  per- 
severed. 

I  resolved  to  follow  this  advice.  The  first  use  which  Paul 
made  of  his  returning  strength  was  to  absent  himself  from  the 
plantation.  Being  determined  not  to  lose  sight  of  him  I  set 
out  immediately,  and  desired  Domingo  to  take  some  provisions 
and  accompany  us.  The  young  man's  strength  and  spirits 
seemed  renewed  as  he  descended  the  mountain.  He  first  took 
the  road  to  the  Shaddock  Grove,  and  when  he  was  near  the 
church,  in  the  Alley  of  Bamboos,  he  walked  directly  to  the  spot 
where  he  saw  some  earth  fresh  turned  up  ;  kneeling  clown  there, 
and  raising  his  eyes  to  heaven,  he  offered  up  a  long  prayer. 
This  appeared  to  me  a  favorable  symptom  of  the  return  of  his 
reason  ;  since  this  -mark  of  confidence  in  the  Supreme  i'eing 


98  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

showed  that  his  mi»d  was  beginning  to  resume  its  natural 
functions.  Domingo  and  I,  following  his  example,  fell  upon 
our  knees,  and  mingled  our  prayers  with  his.  When  he  arose, 
he  bent  his  way,  paying  little  attention  to  us,  towards  the 
northern  part  of  the  island.  As  I  knew  that  he  was  not  only 
ignorant  of  the  spot  where  the  body  of  Virginia  had  been 
deposited,  but  even  of  the  fact  that  it  had  been  recovered 
from  the  waves,  I  asked  him  why  he  had  offered  up  his  prayer 
at  the  foot  of  those  bamboos.  He  answered, — "  We  have  been 
there  so  often." 

He  continued  his  course  until  we  reached  the  borders  of 
the  forest,  when  night  came  on.  I  set  him  the  example  of 
taking  some  nourishment,  and  prevailed  on  him  to  do  the  same ; 
and  we  slept  upon  the  grass,  at  the  foot  of  a  tree.  The  next 
day  I  thought  he  seemed  disposed  to  retrace  his  steps  ;  for, 
after  having  gazed  a  considerable  time  from  the  plain  upon 
the  church  of  the  Shaddock  Grove,  with  its  long  avenues  of 
bamboos,  he  made  a  movement  as  if  to  return  home  ;  but  sud- 
denly plunging  into  the  forest,  he  directed  his  course  towards 
the  north.  I  guessed  what  was  his  design,  and  I  endeavored, 
but  in  vain,  to  dissuade  him  from  it.  About  noon  we  arrived 
at  the  quarter  of  Golden  Dust.  He  rushed  down  to  the  sea- 
shore, opposite  to  the  spot  where  the  Saint-Geran  had  been 
wrecked.  At  the  sight  of  the  isle  of  Amber,  and  its  channel, 
then  smooth  as  a  mirror,  he  exclaimed, — "  Virginia !  oh,  my 
dear  Virginia  !  "  and  fell  senseless.  Domingo  and  I  carried 
him  into  the  woods,  where  we  had  some  difficulty  in  recovering 
him.  As  soon  as  he  regained  his  senses,  he  wished  to  return 
to  the  sea-shore  ;  but  we  conjured  him  not  to  renew  his  own 
anguish  and  ours  by  such  cruel  remembrances,  and  he  took 
another  direction^  During  a  whole  week  he  sought  every  spot 
where  he  had  once  wandered  with  the  companion  of  his  child- 
hood. He  traced  the  path  by  which  she  had  gone  to  intercede 
for  the  slave  of  the  Black  River.  He  gazed  again  upon  the 
banks  of  the  river  of  the  Three  Breasts,  where  she  had  rested 
herself  when  unable  to  walk  further,  and  upon  the  part  of  the 
wood  where  they  had  lost  their  way.  All  the  haunts,  which 
recalled  to  his  memory  the  anxieties,  the  sports,  the  repasts, 
the  benevolence  of  her  he  loved, — the  river  of  the  Sloping 
Mountain,  my  house,  the  neighboring  cascade,  the  papaw  tree 
she  had  planted,  the  grassy  fields  in  which  she  loved  to  run, 
the  openings  of  the  forest  where  she  used  to  sing,  all  in  succes- 
sion called  forth  his  tears ;  and  those  very  echoes  which  had  so 
often  resounded  with  their  mutual  shouts  of  joy,  now  repeated 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


99 


only   these    accents   of  despair,  — "  Virginia !    oh,    my   dear 
Virginia !  " 

During  this  savage  and  wandering  life,  his  eyes  became 
sunk  and  hollow,  his  skin  assumed  a  yellow  tint,  and  his  health 
rapidly  declined.  Convinced  that  our  present  sufferings 
are  rendered  more  acute  by  the  bitter  recollection  of  bygone 
pleasures,  and  that  the  passions  gather  strength  in  solitude,  I 
resolved  to  remove  my  unfortunate  friend  from  those  scenes 
which  recalled  the  remembrance  of  his  loss,  and  to  lead  him  to 
a  more  busy  part  of  the  island.  With  this  view,  I  conducted 
him  to  the  inhabited  part  of  the  elevated  quarter  of  Williams, 
which  he  had  never  visited,  and  where  the  busy  pursuits  of 
agriculture  and  commerce  ever  occasioned  much  bustle  and 
variety.  Numbers  of  carpenters  were  employed  in  hewing 
down  and  squaring  trees,  while  others  were  sawing  them  into 
planks  ;  carriages  were  continually  passing  and  repassing  on 
the  roads  ;  numerous  herds  of  oxen  and  troops  of  horses  were 
feeding  on  those  widespread  meadows,  and  the  whole  country 
was  dotted  with  the  dwellings  of  man.  On  some  spots  the 
elevation  of  the  soil  permitted  the  culture  of  many  of  the  plants 
of  Europe  :  the  yellow  ears  of  ripe  corn  waved  upon  the  plains ; 
strawberry  plants  grew  in  the  openings  of  the  woods,  and  the 
roads  were  bordered  by  hedges  of  rose-trees.  The  freshness 
of  the  air,  too,  giving  tension  to  the  nerves,  was  favorable  to 
the  health  of  Europeans.  From  those  heights,  situated  near 
the  middle  of  the  island,  and  surrounded  by  extensive  forests, 
neither  the  sea,  nor  Port  Louis,  nor  the  church  of  the  Shaddock 
Grove,  nor  any  other  object  associated  with  the  remembrance 
of  Virginia  could  be  discerned.  Even  the  mountains,  which 
present  various  shapes  on  the  side  of  Port  Louis,  appear  from 
hence  like  a  long  promontory,  in  a  straight  and  perpendicular 
line,  from  which  arise  lofty  pyramids  of  rock,  whose  summits 
are  enveloped  in  the  clouds. 

Conducting  Paul  to  these  scenes,  I  kept  him  continually  in 
action,  walking  with  him  in  rain  and  sunshine,  by  day  and  by 
night.  I  sometimes  wandered  with  him  into  the  depths  of  the 
forests,  or  led  him  over  untilled  grounds,  hoping  that  change 
of  scene  and  fatigue  might  divert  his  mind  from  its  gloomy 
meditations.  But  the  soul  of  a  lover  finds  everywhere  the 
traces  of  the  beloved  object.  Night  and  day,  the  calm  of  soli- 
tude and  the  tumult  of  crowds,  are  to  him  the  same  ;  time  itself, 
which  casts  the  shade  of  oblivion  over  so  many  other  remem- 
brances, in  vain  would  tear  that  tender  and  sacred  recollec- 
tion from  the  heart.  The  needle,  when  touched  by  the  load- 


loo  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

stone,  however  it  may  have  been  moved  from  its  position,  is 
no  sooner  left  to  repose,  than  it  returns  to  the  pole  of  its  at- 
traction. So,  when  I  inquired  of  Paul,  as  we  wandered  amidst 
the  plains  of  Williams,  —  "  Where  shall  we  now  go  ?  "  he 
pointed  to  the  north,  and  said,  "  Yonder  are  our  mountains ; 
let  us  return  home." 

I  now  saw  that  all  the  means  I  took  to  divert  him  from  his 
melancholy  were  fruitless,  and  that  no  resource  was  left  but 
an  attempt  to  combat  his  passion  by  the  arguments  which  rea- 
son suggested.  I  answered  him, — "  Yes,  there  are  the  moun- 
tains where  once  dwelt  your  beloved  Virginia  ;  and  here  is 
the  picture  you  gave  her,  and  which  she  held,  when  dying,  to 
her  heart — that  heart,  which  even  in  its  last  moments  only 
beat  for  you."  I  then  presented  to  Paul  the  little  portrait 
which  he  had  given  to  Virginia  on  the  borders  of  the  cocoa- 
tree  fountain.  At  this  sight  a  gloomy  joy  overspread  his  coun- 
tenance. He  eagerly  seized  the  picture  with  his  feeble  hands, 
and  held  it  to  his  lips.  His  oppressed  bosom  seemed  ready 
to  burst  with  emotion,  and  his  eyes  were  filled  with  tears  which 
had  no  power  to  flow. 

"  My  son,"  said  I,  "  listen  to  one  who  is  your  friend,  who 
was  the  friend  of  Virginia,  and  who,  in  the  bloom  of  your  hopes, 
has  often  endeavored  to  fortify  your  mind  against  the  unfore- 
seen accidents  of  life.  What  do  you  deplore  with  so  much 
bitterness  ?  Is  it  your  own  misfortunes,  or  those  of  Virginia, 
which  affect  you  so  deeply  ? 

"  Your  own  misfortunes  are  indeed  severe.  You  have  lost 
the  most  amiable  of  girls,  who  would  have  grown  up  to  woman- 
hood a  pattern  to  her  sex,  one  who  saerified  her  own  interests 
to  yours  :  who  preferred  you  to  all  that  fortune  could  bestow, 
and  considered  you  as  the  only  recompense  worthy  of  her 
virtues. 

"  But  might  not  this  very  object,  from  whom  you  expected 
the  purest  happiness,  have  proved  to  you  a  source  of  the  most 
cruel  distress  ?  She  had  returned  poor  and  disinherited  ;  all 
you  could  henceforth  have  partaken  with  her  was  your  labor. 
Rendered  more  delicate  by  her  education,  and  more  courage- 
ous by  her  misfortunes,  you  might  have  beheld  her  every  day 
sinking  beneath  her  efforts  to  share  and  lighten  your  fatigues. 
Had  she  brought  you  children,  they  would  only  have  served 
to  increase  her  anxieties  and  your  own,  from  the  difficulty  of 
sustaining  at  once  your  aged  parents  and  your  infant  family. 

"  Very  likely  you  will  tell  me  that  the  governor  would  have1 
helped  you  ;  but  how  do  you  know  that  in  a  colony  whose 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  lol 

governors  are  so  frequently  changed,  you  would  have  had 
others  like  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais  ? — that  one  might  not 
have  been  sent  destitute  of  good  feeling  and  of  morality  ? — • 
that  your  young  wife,  in  order  to  procure  some  miserable  pit- 
tance, might  not  have  been  obliged  to  seek  his  favor  ?  Had 
she  been  weak  you  would  have  been  to  be  pitied  ;  and  if  she 
had  remained  virtuous,  you  would  have  continued  poor  :  forced 
even  to  consider  yourself  fortunate  if,  on  account  of  the  beauty 
and  virtue  of  your  wife,  you  had  not  to  endure  persecution 
from  those  who  had  promised  you  protection. 

"  It  would  still  have  remained  to  you,  you  may  say,  to 
have  enjoyed  a  pleasure  independent  of  fortune,  that  of 
protecting  a  beloved  being,  who,  in  proportion  to  her  own 
helplessness,  had  more  attached  herself  to  you.  You  may 
fancy  that  your  pains  and  sufferings  would  have  served  to  en- 
dear you  to  each  other,  and  that  your  passion  would  have 
gathered  strength  from  your  mutual  misfortunes.  Undoubtedly 
virtuous  love  does  find  consolation  even  in  such  melancholy 
retrospects.  But  Virginia  is  no  more  ;  yet  those  persons  still 
live,  whom,  next  to  yourself,  she  held  most  dear ;  her  mother, 
and  your  own  :  your  inconsolable  affliction  is  bringing  them 
both  to  the  grave.  Place  your  happiness  as  she  did  hers,  in 
affording  them  succor.  My  son,  beneficence  is  the  happiness 
of  the  virtuous :  there  is  no  greater  or  more  certain  enjoyment' 
on  the  earth.  Schemes  of  pleasure,  repose,  luxuries,  wealth, 
and  glory  are  not  suited  to  man,  weak,  wandering,  and  transi- 
tory as  he  is.  See  how  rapidly  one  step  towards  the  acquisu 
tion  of  fortune  has  precipitated  us  all  to  the  lowest  abyss  of 
misery  !  You  were  opposed  to  it,  it  is  true  ;  but  who  would 
not  have  thought  that  Virginia's  voyage  would  terminate  in  her 
happiness  and  your  own  ?  an  invitation  from  a  rich  and  aged 
relation,  the  advice  of  a  wise  governor,  the  approbation  of  the 
whole  colony,  and  the  well-advised  authority  of  her  confessor, 
decided  the  lot  of  Virginia.  Thus  do  we  run  to  our  ruin,  de- 
ceived even  by  the  prudence  of  those  who  watch  over  us :  it 
would  be  better,  no  doubt,  not  to  believe  them,  nor  even  to 
listen  to  the  voice  or  lean  on  the  hopes  of  a  deceitful  world. 
But  all  men, — those  you  see  occupied  in  these  plains,  those 
who  go  abroad  to  seek  their  fortunes,  and  those  in  Europe  who 
enjoy  repose  from  the  labors  of  others,  are  liable  to  reverses ! 
not  one  is  secure  from  losing,  at  some  period,  all  that  he  most 
values, — greatness,  wealth,  wife,  children,  and  friends.  Most 
of  these  would  have  their  sorrow  increased  by  the  remembrance 
of  their  own  imprudence.  But  you  have  nothing  with  which 
-  23 


102  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

you  can  reproach  yourself.  You  have  been  faithful  in  your 
love.  In  the  bloom  of  youth,  by  not  departing  from  the  dic- 
tates of  nature,  you  evinced  the  wisdom  of  a  sage.  Your 
views  were  just,  because  they  were  pure,  simple,  and  disinter- 
ested. You  had,  besides,  on  Virginia,  sacred  claims  which 
nothing  could  countervail.  You  have  lost  her :  but  it  is 
neither  your  own  imprudence,  nor  your  avarice,  nor  your 
false  wisdom  which  has  occasioned  this  misfortune,  but 
the  will  of  God,  who  has  employed  the  passions  of  others 
to  snatch  from  you  the  object  of  your  love  ;  God,  from 
whom  you  derive  everything,  who  knows  what  is  most  fitting 
for  you,  and  whose  wisdom  has  not  left  you  any  cause  for  the 
repentance  and  despair  which  succeed  the  calamities  that  are 
brought  upon  us  by  ourselves. 

"  Vainly,  in  your  misfortunes,  do  you  say  to  yourself  '  I  have 
not  deserved  them.'  Is  it  then  the  calamity  of  Virginia — her 
death  and  her  present  condition  that  you  deplore  ?  She  has 
undergone  the  fate  allotted  to  all, — to  high  birth,  to  beauty, 
and  even  to  empires  themselves.  The  life  of  man,  with  all  its 
projects,  may  be  compared  to  a  tower,  at  whose  summit  is 
death.  When  your  Virginia  was  born,  she  was  condemned  to 
die  ;  happily  for  herself,  she  is  released  from  life  before  losing 
her  mother,  or  yours,  or  you  ;  saved,  thus,  from  undergoing 
pangs  worse  than  those  of  death  itself. 

"  Learn  then,  my  son,  that  death  is  a  benefit  to  all  men :  it 
is  the  night  of  that  restless  day  we  call  by  the  name  of  life. 
The  diseases,  the  griefs,  the  vexations,  and  the  fears,  which 
perpetually  embitter  our  life  as  long  as  we  possess  it,  molest  us 
no  more  in  the  sleep  of  death.  If  you  inquire  into  the  history 
of  those  men  who  appear  to  have  been  the  happiest,  you  will 
find  that  they  have  bought  their  apparent  felicity  very  dear ; 
public  consideration,  perhaps,  by  domestic  evils ;  the  rare  hap- 
piness of  being  beloved,  by  continual  sacrifices ;  and  often,  at 
the  expiration  of  a  life  devoted  to  the  good  of  others,  they  see 
themselves  surrounded  only  by  false  friends,  and  ungrateful  re- 
lations. But  Virginia  was  happy  to  her  very  last  moment. 
When  with  us,-she  was  happy  in  partaking  of  the  gifts  of  nature  ; 
when  far  from  us,  she  found  enjoyment  in  the  practice  of  virtue  ; 
and  even  at  the  terrible  moment  in  which  we  saw  her  perish, 
she  still  had  cause  for  self-gratulation.  For,  whether  she  cast 
her  eyes  on  the  assembled  colony,  made  miserable  by  her  ex- 
pected loss,  or  on  you,  my  son,  who,  with  so  much  intrepidity, 
were  endeavoring  to  save  her,  she  must  have  seen  how  dear 
she  was  to  all.  Her  mind  was  fortified  against  the  future  by 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  1Oj 

the  remembrance  of  her  innocent  life  ;  and  at  that  moment  she 
received  the  reward  which  Heaven  reserves  for  virtue, — a 
courage  superior  to  danger.  She  met  death  with  a  serene 
countenance. 

"  My  son  !  God  gives  all  the  trials  of  life  to  virtue,  in  order 
to  show  that  virtue  alone  can  support  them,  and  even  find  in 
them  happiness  and  glory.  When  he  designs  for  it  an  illustri- 
ous reputation,  he  exhibits  it  on  a  wide  theatre,  and  contending 
with  death.  Then  does  the  courage  of  virtue  shine  forth  as  an 
example,  and  the  misfortunes  to  which  it  has  been  exposed  re- 
ceive forever,  from  posterity,  the  tribute  of  their  tears.  This 
is  the  immortal  monument  reserved  for  virtue  in  a  world  where 
everything  else  passes  away,  and  where  the  names,  even  of 
the  greater  number  of  kings  themselves,  are  soon  buried  in 
eternal  oblivion. 

"  Meanwhile  Virginia  still  exists.  My  son,  you  see  that 
everything  changes  on  this  earth,  but  that  nothing  is  ever  lost. 
No  art  of  man  can  annihilate  the  smallest  particle  of  matter  ; 
can,  then,  that  which  has  possessed  reason,  sensibility,  affection, 
virtue  and  religion  be  supposed  capable  of  destruction,  when 
the  very  elements  with  which  it  is  clothed  are  imperishable  ? 
Ah  !  however  happy  Virginia  may  have  been  with  us,  she  is 
now  much  more  so.  There  is  a  God,  my  son  ;  it  is  unnecessary 
for  me  to  prove  it  to  you,  for  the  voice  of  all  nature  loudly  pro- 
claims it.  The  wickedness  of  mankind  lead  them  to  deny  the 
existence  of  a  Being,  whose  justice  they  fear.  But  your  mind 
is  fully  convinced  of  his  existence,  while  his  works  are  ever  be- 
fore your  eyes.  Do  you  then  believe  that  he  would  leave  Vir- 
ginia without  recompense  ?  Do  you  think  that  the  same  Power 
which  inclosed  her  noble  soul  in  a  form  so  beautiful, — so  like 
an  emanation  from  itself,  could  not  have  saved  her  from  the 
waves  ? — that  he  who  has  ordained  the  happiness  of  man  here, 
by  laws  unknown  to  you,  cannot  prepare  a  still  higher  degree 
of  felicity  for  Virginia  by  other  laws,  of  which  you  are  equally 
ignorant  ?  Before  we  were  born  into  this  world,  could  we,  do 
you  imagine,  even  if  we  were  capable  of  thinking  at  all,  have 
formed  any  idea  of  our  existence  here  ?  And  now  that  we  are 
in  the  midst  of  this  gloomy  and  transitory  life,  can  we  foresee 
what  is  beyond  the  tomb,  or  in  what  manner  we  shall  be  eman- 
cipated from  it  ?  Does  God,  like  man,  need  this  little  globe, 
the  earth,  as  a  theatre  for  the  display  of  his  intelligence  and  his 
goodness  ? — and  can  he  only  dispose  of  human  life  in  the  terri- 
tory of  death  ?  There  is  not,  in  the  entire  ocean,  a  single  drop 
of  water  which  is  not  peopled  with  living  beings  appertaining  to 


104 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


man :  and  does  there  exist  nothing  for  him  in  the  heavens 
above  his  head  ?  What !  is  there  no  supreme  intelligence,  no 
divine  goodness,  except  on  this  little  spot  where  we  are  placed'? 
In  those  innumerable  glowing  fires, — in  those  infinite  fields  of 
light  which  surround  them,  and  which  neither  storms  nor 
darkness  can  extinguish,  is  there  nothing  but  empty  space  and 
an  eternal  void  ?  If  we,  weak  and  ignorant  as  we  are,  might 
dare  to  assign  limits  to  that  Power  from  whom  we  have  received 
everything,  we  might  possibly  imagine  that  we  were  placed  on 
the  very  confines  of  his  empire,  where  life  is  perpetually  strug- 
gling with  death,  and  innocence  forever  in  danger  from  the 
power  of  tyranny  ! 

"  Somewhere,  then,  without  doubt,  there  is  another  world, 
where  virtue  will  receive  its  reward.  Virginia  is  now  happy. 
Ah  !  if  from  the  abode  of  angels  she  could  hold  communication 
with  you,  she  would  tell  you,  as  she  did  when  she  bade  you 
her  last  adieus, — '  O,  Paul !  life  is  but  a  scene  of  trial.  I  have 
been  obedient  to  the  laws  of  nature,  love,  and  virtue.  I 
crossed  the  seas  to  obey  the  will  of  my  relations  ;  I  sacrificed 
wealth  in  order  to  keep  my  faith  •  and  I  preferred  the  loss  of 
life  to  disobeying  the  dictates  of  modesty.  Heaven  found 
that  I  had  fulfilled  my  duties,  and  has  snatched  me  forever 
from  all  the  miseries  I  might  have  endured  myself,  and  all  I 
might  have  felt  for  the  miseries  of  others.  I  am  placed  far 
above  the  reach  of  all  human  evils,  and  you  pity  me  !  I  am 
become  pure  and  unchangeable  as  a  particle  of  light,  and  you 
would  recall  me  to  the  darkness  of  human  life  !  O,  Paul !  O, 
my  beloved  friend  !  recollect  those  days  of  happiness,  when  in 
the  morning  we  felt  the  delightful  sensations  excited  by  the 
umolding  beauties  of  nature  ;  when  we  seemed  to  rise  with  the 
sun  to  the  peaks  of  those  rocks,  and  then  to  spread  with  his  rays 
over  the  bosom  of  the  forests.  We  experienced  a  delight,  the 
cause  of  which  we  could  not  comprehend.  In  the  innocence  of 
our  desires,  we  wished  to  be  all  sight,  to  enjoy  the  rich  colors  of 
the  early  dawn  ;  all  smell,  to  taste  a  thousand  perfumes  at 
once  ;  all  hearing,  to  listen  to  the  singing  of  our  birds ;  and  all 
hearts,  to  be  capable  of  gratitude  for  those  mingled  blessings. 
Now,  at  the  source  of  the  beauty  whence  flows  all  that  is 
delightful  upon  earth,  my  soul  intuitively  sees,  tastes,  hears, 
touches,  what  before  she  could  only  be  made  sensible  of 
through  the  medium  of  our  weak  organs.  Ah  !  what  language 
can  describe  these  shores  of  eternal  bliss,  which  I  inhabit  for- 
ever !  All  that  infinite  power  and  heavenly  goodness  could 
create  to  console  the  unhappy  :  all  that  the  friendship  of 


PAUL  AND   VIRGINIA. 


IOS 


numberless  beings,  exulting  in  the  same  felicity  can  impart,  we 
•enjoy  in  unmixed  perfection.  Support,  then,  the  trial  which  is 
now  allotted  to  you,  that  you  may  heighten  the  happiness  of 
your  Virginia  by  love  which  will  know  no  termination, — by  a 
union  which  will  be  eternal.  There  I  will  calm  your  regrets,  I 
•will  wipe  away  your  tears.  Oh,  my  beloved  friend !  my 
youthful  husband  !  raise  your  thoughts  towards  the  infinite,  to 
•enable  you  to  support  the  evils  of  a  moment.'  " 

My  own  emotion  choked  my  utterance.  Paul,  looking  at 
me  steadfastly,  cried, — "  She  is  no  more  !  she  is  no  more  !  "  and 
a  long  fainting  fit  succeeded  these  words  of  woe.  When  re- 
stored to  himself,  he  said,  "  Since  death  is  a  good,  and  since 
Virginia  is  happy,  I  will  die  too,  and  be  united  to  Virginia." 
Thus  the  motives  of  consolation  I  had  offered,  only  served  to 
nourish  his  despair.  I  was  in  the  situation  of  a  man  who 
attempts  to  save  a  friend  sinking  in  the  midst  of  a  flood,  and 
who  obstinately  refuses  to  swim.  Sorrow  had  completely 
overwhelmed  his  soul.  Alas  !  the  trials  of  early  years  prepare 
man  for  the  afflictions  of  after-life  ;  but  Paul  had  never  experi- 
enced any. 

I  took  him  back  to  his  own  dwelling,  where  I  found  his 
mother  and  Madame  de  la  Tour  in  a  state  of  increased  languor 
and  exhaustion,  but  Margaret  seemed  to  droop  the  most. 
Lively  characters,  upon  whom  petty  troubles  have  but  little 
effect,  sink  the  soonest  under  great  calamities. 

"  O  my  good  friend,  "  said  Margaret,  "  I  thought  last  night 
I  saw  Virginia,  dressed  in  white,  in  the  midst  of  groves  and 
delicious  gardens.  She  said  to  me,  '  I  enjoy  the  most  perfect 
happiness  : '  and  then  approaching  Paul  with  a  smiling  air,  she 
bore  him  away  with  her.  While  I  was  struggling  to  retain  my  son, 
I  felt  that  I  myself  too  was  quitting  the  earth,  and  that  I  followed 
with  inexpressible  delight.  I  then  wished  to  bid  my  friend 
farewell,  when  I  saw  that  she  was  hastening  after  me,  accom- 
panied by  Mary  and  Domingo.  But  the  strangest  circumstance 
remains  yet  to  be  told  ;  Madame  de  la  Tour  has  this  very  night 
had  a  dream  exactly  like  mine  in  every  possible  respect." 

"  My  dear  friend,"  I  replied,  "  nothing,  I  firmly  believe, 
happens  in  this  world  without  the  permission  of  God.  Future 
•events,  too,  are  sometimes  revealed  in  dreams." 

Madame  de  la  Tour  then  related  to  me  her  dream  which 
was  exactly  the  same  as  Margaret's  in  every  particular  ;  and 
as  I  had  never  observed  in  either  of  these  ladies  any  propensity 
to  superstition,  I  was  struck  with  the  singular  coincidence  of 
their  dreams,  and  I  felt  convinced  that  thev  would  soon  be 


106  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

realized.  The  belief  that  future  events  are  sometimes  revealed 
to  us  during  sleep,  is  one  that  is  widely  diffused  among  the 
nations  of  the  earth.  The  greatest  men  of  antiquity  have  had 
faith  in'  it ;  among  whom  may  be  mentioned  Alexander  the 
Great,  Julius  Caesar,  the  Scipios,  the  two  Catos,  and  Brutus, 
none  of  whom  were  weak-minded  persons.  Both  the  Old  and  the 
New  Testament  furnish  us  with  numerous  instances  of  dreams 
that  came  to  pass.  As  for  myself,  I  need  only,  on  this  subject,, 
appeal  to  my  experience,  as  I  have  more  than  'once  had  good 
reason  to  believe  that  superior  intelligences,  who  interest  them- 
selves in  our  welfare,  communicate  with  us  in  these  visions  of 
the  night.  Things  which  surpass  the  light  of  human  reason 
cannot  be  proved  by  arguments  derived  from  that  reason  ;  but 
still,  if  the  mind  of  man  is  an  image  of  that  of  God,  since  man 
can  make  known  his  will  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  by  secret 
missives,  may  not  the  Supreme  Intelligence  which  governs  the 
universe  employ  similar  means  to  attain  a  like  end  ?  One 
friend  consoles  another  by  a  letter,  which,  after  passing  through 
many  kingdoms,  and  being  in  the  hands  of  various  individuals 
at  enmity  with  each  other,  brings  at  last  joy  and  hope  to  the 
breast  of  a  single  human  being.  May  not  in  like  manner  the 
Sovereign  Protector  of  innocence  come  in  some  secret  way,  to 
the  help  of  a  virtuous  soul,  which  puts  its  trust  in  him  alone  ? 
Has  he  occasion  to  employ  visible  means  to  effect  his  purpose 
in  this,  whose  ways  are  hidden  in  all  his  ordinary  works  ? 

Why  should  we  doubt  the  evidence  of  dreams  ?  for  what  is 
our  life,  occupied  as  it  is  with  vain  and  fleeting  imaginations, 
other  than  a  prolonged  vision  of  the  night  ? 

Whatever  may  be  thought  of  this  in  general,  on  the  present 
occasion  the  dreams  of  my  friends  were  soon  realized.  Paul 
expired  two  months  after  the  death  of  his  Virginia,  whose  name 
dwelt  on  his  lips  in  his  expiring  moments.  About  a  week  after 
the  death  of  her  son,  Margaret  saw  her  last  hour  approach  with 
that  serenity  which  virtue  only  can  feel.  She  bade  Madame 
de  la  Tour  a  most  tender  farewell,  "  in  the  certain  hope,"  she 
said,  "of  a  delightful  and  eternal  re-union.  Death  is  the 
greatest  of  blessings  to  us,"  added  she,  "  and  we  ought  to  de- 
sire it.  If  life  be  a  punishment,  we  should  wish  for  its  termin- 
ation ;  if  it  be  a  trial,  we  should  be  thankful  that  it  is  short." 

The  governor  took  care  of  Domingo  and  Mary,  who  were 
no  longer  able  to  labor,  and  who  survived  their  mistresses  but 
a  short  time.  As  for  poor  Fidele,  he  pined  to  death,  soon  after 
be  had  lost  his  master. 

I  afforded  an  asylum  in  my  dwelling  to  Madame  de  la  Tour, 


PAUL  AND   VIRGINIA.  107 

who  bore  up  under  her  calamities  with  incredible  elevation  of 
mind.  She  had  endeavored  to  console  Paul  and  Margaret 
till  their  last  moments,  as  if  she  herself  had  no  misfortunes  of 
her  own  to  bear.  When  they  were  no  more,  she  used  to  talk 
to  me  every  day  of  them  as  of  beloved  friends,  who  were  still 
living  near  her.  She  survived  them  however,  but  one  month. 
Far  from  reproaching  her  aunt  for  the  afflictions  she  had 
caused,  her  benign  spirit  prayed  to  God  to  pardon  her,  and  to 
appease  that  remorse  which  we  heard  began  to  torment  her, 
as  soon  as  she  had  sent  Virginia  away  with  so  much  inhu- 
manity. 

Conscience,  that  certain  punishment  of  the  guilty,  visited 
with  all  its  terrors  the  mind  of  this  unnatural  relation.  So 
great  was  her  torment,  that  life  and  death  became  equally 
insupportable  to  her.  Sometimes  she  reproached  herself  with 
the  untimely  fate  of  her  lovely  niece,  and  with  the  death  of 
her  mother,  which  had  immediately  followed  it.  At  other 
times  she  congratulated  herself  for  having  repulsed  far  from 
her  two  wretched  creatures,  who,  she  said,  had  both  dishon- 
ored their  family  by  their  grovelling  inclinations.  Sometimes, 
at  the  sight  of  the  many  miserable  objects  with  which  Paris 
abounds,  she  would  fly  into  a  rage,  and  exclaim, — "  Why  are 
not  these  idle  people  sent  off  to  the  colonies  ?  "  As  for  the 
notions  of  humanity,  virtue,  and  religion,  adopted  by  all  na- 
tions, she  said,  they  were  only  the  inventions  of  their  rulers, 
to  serve  political  purposes.  Then,  flying  all  at  once  to  the 
other  extreme,  she  abandoned  herself  to  superstitious  terrors, 
which  filled  her  with  mortal  fears.  She  would  then  give 
abundant  alms  to  the  wealthy  ecclesiastics  who  governed  her, 
beseeching  them  to  appease  the  wrath  of  God  by  the  sacrifice 
of  her  fortune, — as  if  the  offering  to  Him  of  the  wealth  she 
had  withheld  from  the  miserable  could  please  her  Heavenly 
Father !  In  her  imagination  she  often  beheld  fields  of  fire, 
with  burning  mountains,  wherein  hideous  spectres  wandered 
about,  loudly  calling  on  her  by  name.  She  threw  herself  at 
her  confessor's  feet,  imagining  every  description  of  agony  and 
torture  ;  for  Heaven — just  Heaven,  always  sends  to  the  cruel 
the  most  frightful  views  of  religion  and  a  future  state. 

Atheist,  thus,  and  fanatic  in  turn,  holding  both  life  and 
d-eath  in  equal  horror,  she  lived  on  tor  several  years.  But  what 
completed  the  torments  of  her  miserable  existence,  was  that 
very  object  to  which  she  had  sacrificed  every  natural  affection. 
She  was  deeply  annoyed  at  perceiving  that  her  fortune  must 
go,  at  her  death,  to  relations  whom  she  hated,  ana  she  deter- 


I08  PAUL   AND   VIRGINIA. 

mined  to  alienate  as  much  of  it  as  she  could.  They,  however, 
taking  advantage  of  her  frequent  attacks  of  low  spirits,  caused 
her  to  be  secluded  as  a  lunatic,  and  her  affairs  to  be  put  into- 
the  hands  of  trustees.  Her  wealth,  thus  completed  her  ruin  ; 
and,  as  the  possession  of  it  had  hardened  her  own  heart,  so 
did  its  anticipation  corrupt  the  hearts  of  those  who  coveted  it 
from  her.  At  length  she  died  ;  and,  to  crown  her  misery,  she 
retained  reason  enough  at  last  to  be  sensible  that  she  was 
plundered  and  despised  by  the  very  persons  whose  opinions 
had  been  her  rule  of  conduct  during  her  whole  life. 

On  the  same  spot,  and  at  the  foot  of  the  same  shrubs  as 
his  Virginia,  was  deposited  the  body  of  Paul ;  and  round  about 
them  lie  the  remains  of  their  tender  mothers  and  their  faithful 
servants.  No  marble  marks  the  spot  of  their  humble  graves, 
no  inscription  records  their  virtues  ;  but  their  memory  is  en- 
graven upon  the  hearts  of  those  whom  they  have  befriended, 
in  indelible  characters.  Their  spirits  have  no  need  of  the 
pomp,  which  they  shunned  during  their  life  ;  but  if  they  still 
take  an  interest  in  what  passes  upon  earth,  they  no  doubt  love 
to  wander  beneath  the  roofs  of  these  humble  dwellings,  inhab- 
ited by  industrious  virtue,  to  console  poverty  discontented  with 
its  lot,  to  cherish  in  the  hearts  of  lovers  the  sacred  flame  of 
fidelity,  and  to  inspire  a  taste  for  the  blessings  of  nature,  a 
love  of  honest  labor,  and  a  dread  of  the  allurements  of  riches. 

The  voice  of  the  people,  which  is  often  silent  with  regard 
to  the  monuments  raised  to  kings,  has  given  to  some  parts  of 
this  island  names  which  will  immortalize  the  loss  of  Virginia. 
Near  the  isle  of  Amber,  in  the  midst  of  sandbanks,  is  a  spot 
called  The  Pass  of  the  Saint-Geran,  from  the  name  of  the 
vessel  which  was  there  lost.  The  extremity  of  that  point  of 
land  which  you  see  yonder,  three  leagues  off,  half  covered 
with  water,  and  which  the  Saint-Geran  could  not  double  the 
night  before  the  hurricane,  is  called  the  Cape  of  Misfortune ; 
and  before  us,  at  the  end  of  the  valley,  is  the  Bay  of  the  Tomb, 
whera  Virginia  was  found  buried  in  the  sand  ;  as  if  the  waves 
had  sought  to  restore  her  corpse  to  her  family,  that  they  might 
render  it  the  last  sad  duties  on  those  shores  where  so  many 
years  of  her  innocent  life  had  been  passed. 

Joined  thus  in  death,  ye  faithful  lovers,  who  were  so  ten- 
derly united !  unfortunate  mothers !  beloved  family !  these 
woods  which  sheltered  you  with  their  foliage, — these  fountains 
which  flowed  for  you, — these  hill-sides  upon  which  you  reposed, 
still  deplore  your  loss  !  No  one  has  since  presumed  to  culti- 
vate that  desolate  spot  of  land,  or  to  rebuild  those  humble 


PAUL  AND   VIRGTN'r.l.  ,  ^ 

cottages.  Your  goats  are  become  wild  :  your  orchards  are 
destroyed  ;  your  birds  are  all  fled,  and  nothing  is  heard  but  the 
cry  of  the  sparrow-hawk,  as  it  skims  in  quest  of  prey  around 
this  rocky  basin.  As  for  myself,  since  I  have  ceased  to  be- 
hold you,  I  have  felt  friendless  and  alone,  like  a  father  bereft 
of  his  children,  or  a  traveller  who  wanders  by  himself  over  the 
face  of  the  earth." 

Ending  with  these  words,  the  good  old  man  retired,  bathed 
in  tears ;  and  my  own,  too,  had  flowed  more  than  once  during 
this  melancholy  recital. 


THE  KXD. 


THE 


HISTORY  OF  RASSELAS, 


PRINCE    OF    ABYSSINIA. 


.A.    TALE, 


BY  SAMUEL    JOHNSON,   LL.D. 


ILLUSTRATED. 


NEW  YORK: 

JOHN    WURTELE    LOVELL, 
14  &  16  ASTOR  PLACE. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

TAGR. 

DESCRIPTION  OF  A  PALACE  IN  A  VALLEY.  .,<<  .*>.... 7 

CHAPTER  II. 
THE  DISCONTENT  OF  RASSELAS  IN  THE  HAPPY  VALLEY...      9 

CHAPTER  III. 
THE  WANTS  OF  HIM  THAT  WANTS  NOTHING r  i 

CHAPTER  IV. 
THE  PRINCE  CONTINUES  TO  GRIEVE  AND  MUSE.   .........     13 

CHAPTER  V. 
THE  PRINCE  MEDITATES  HIS  ESCAPE      ....,„  „..,.. ,. ...     15 

CHAPTER  VI. 
A  DISSERTATION  ON  THE  ART  OF  FLYING.  .  ..  = 16 

CHAPTER  VII. 
THE  PRINCE  FINDS  A  MAN  OF  LEARNING.  .,v, ...........     19 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
THE  HISTORY  OF  IMLAC     .,..,,.....„,,........,....».*     20 

CHAPTER  IX. 
THE  HISTORY  OF  IMLAC  CONTINUED  ...,., 23 

CHAPTER  X. 

JMLAC'S    HISTORY    CONTINUED.       A   DISSERTATION    ON 
POETRY ,;,,.,,.., ..,. ; , 25 


4  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XL 

PACS. 
IMLAC'S  NARRATIVE  CONTINUED.    A  HINT  ON  PILGRIMAGE    27 

CHAPTER  XII. 
THE  STORY  OF  IMLAC  CONTINUED 29 

CHAPTER  XIIL 
RASSELAS  DISCOVERS  THE  MEANS  OF  ESCAPE., 33 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
RASSELAS  AND  IMLAC  RECEIVE  AN  UNF.XPECTED  VISIT,      34 

CHAPTER  XV, 

THE  PRINCE  AND  PRINCESS  LEAVE  THE  VALLEY,  AND  SEE 
MANY  WONDERS  ....,#. ........    .   .     35 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

THEY  ENTER  CAIRO,  AND  FIND  EVERY  MAN  HAPPY 37 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE   PRINCE  ASSOCIATES  WITH  YOUNG   MEN   OF    SPIRIT 
AND  GAYETY     ,.,,.„ ,.....„.-..,.,..,.....,.,..     39 

CHAPTER  XVI IL 
THE  PRINCE  FINDS  A  WISE  AND  HAPPY  MAN...........    40 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
A  GLIMPSE  OF  PASTORAL  LIFE 42 

CHAPTER  XX. 
THE  DANGER  OF  PROSPERITY , •••;•«'• ....«....-«..    43 

CHAPTER  XXL 
THE  HAPPINESS  OF  SOLITUDE.     THE  HERMIT'S  HISTORY,    45 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
THE  HAPPINESS  OF  A  LIFE  LED  ACCORDING  TO  NATURE.    47 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE  PRINCE  AND  HIS  SISTER  DIVIDE  BETWEEN  THEM  THE 
WORK  OF  OBSERVATION  ,  .  =  ,,,",, ,.-,-,,.,  „ .» •  •    49 


CONTENTS.  5 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

PAGE. 

THE  PRINCE  EXAMINES  THE  HAPPINESS  OF  HIGH  STATIONS    49 

CHAPTER  XXV- 

THE  PRINCESS  PURSUES  HER   INQUIRY  WITH    MORE  DILI- 
GENCE THAN  SUCCESS  ...    .......  ..........  50 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE  PRINCESS    CONTINUES  HER  REMARKS  UPON  PRIVATE 
LIFE  ........     .         .  .,..=.... 52 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
DISQUISITION  UPON  GREATNESS .     54 

CHAPTER  XXVIII 
RASSELAS  AND  NEKEYAH  CONTINUE  THEIR  CONVERSATION    56 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 
THE  DEBATE  OF  MARRIAGE  CONTINUED . ..     58 

CHAPTER  XXX. 
IMLAC  ENTERS,  AND  CHANGES  THE  CONVERSATION 60 

CHAPTER  XXXL 
THEY  VISIT  THE  PYRAMIDS <....._...- 62 

CHAPTER  XXXII, 
THEY  ENTER  THE  PYRAMID .Y.  -..«,."......,     64 

CHAPTER  XXXIIL 
THE  PRINCESS  MEETS  WITH  AN  UNEXPECTED  MISFORTUNE    65 

CHAPTER  XXXIV 
THEY  RETURN  TO  CAIRO  WITHOUT  PEKUAH 66 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 
THE  PRINCESS  LANGUISHES  FOR  WANT  OF  PEKUAH ..    68 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 
PEKUAH  is  STILL  REMEMBERED.  THE  PROGRESS  OF  SORROW    71 


6  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

PACK. 
THE  PRINCESS  HEARS  NEWS  OF  PEKUAH ,« 72 

CHAPTER  XXXVIIL 
THE  ADVENTURES  OF  THE  LADY  PEKUAH 73 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 
THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PEKUAH  CONTINUED  76 

CHAPTER  XL. 
THE  HISTORY  OF  A  MAN  OF  LEARNING ,....,...     80 

CHAPTER  XLL 

THE  ASTRONOMER  DISCOVERS  THE  CAUSE  OF  HIS  UNEASI- 
NESS ...» .,...,„., , 81 

CHAPTER  XLII. 

THE  OPINION   OF   THE   ASTRONOMER  is   EXPLAINED   AND 
JUSTIFIED 82 

CHAPTER  XLIII. 
THE  ASTRONOMER  LEAVES  IMLAC  HIS  DIRECTIONS 83 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 
THE  DANGEROUS  PREVALENCE  OF  IMAGINATION 84 

CHAPTER  XLV. 
THEY  DISCOURSE  WITH  AN  OLD  MAN 86 

CHAPTER  XLVI. 
THE  PRINCESS  AND  PEKUAH  VISIT  THE  ASTRONOMER 88 

CHAPTER  XLVII. 
THE  PRINCE  ENTERS,  AND  BRINGS  A  NEW  TOPIC 92 

CHAPTER  XLVIII. 
IMLAC  DISCOURSES  ON  THE  NATURE  OF  THE  SOUL 95 

CHAPTER  XLIX. 
THE  CONCLUSION,  IN  WHICH  NOTHING  is  CONCLUDED 98 


THE  HISTORY  OF  RASSELAS, 
prince  of 


CHAPTER  I. 

Description  of  a  palace  in  a  valley. 

YE  who  listen  with  credulity  to  the  whispers  of  fancy,  and 

pursue  with  eagerness  the  phantoms  of  hope  ;  who  expect  that 

age  will  perform  the  promises  of  youth,  and  that  the  deficiencies 

of  the  present  day  will  be  supplied  by  the  morrow  ;  attend  to 

.  the  history  of  Rasselas,  prince  of  Abyssinia. 

Rasselas  was  the  fourth  son  of  the  mighty  emperor,  in  whose 
dominions  the  Father  of  Waters  begins  his  course  ;  whose 
bounty  pours  down  the  streams  of  plenty,  and  scatters  over 
half  the  world  the  harvests  of  Egypt. 

According  to  the  custom  which  has  descended  from  age  to 
age  among  the  monarchs  of  the  torrid  zone,  Rasselas  was  con- 
fined in  a  private  palace,  with  the  other  sons  and  daughters 
of  Abyssinian  royalty,  till  the  order  of  succession  should  call 
him  to  the  throne. 

The  place,  which  the  wisdom  or  policy  of  antiquity  had  des- 
tined for  the  residence  of  the  Abyssinian  princes,  was  a 
spacious  valley  in  the  kingdom  of  Amhara,  surrounded  on  every 
side  by  mountains,  of  which  the  summits  overhang  the  middle 
part.  The  only  passage  by  which  it  could  be  entered  was  a 
cavern  that  passed  under  a  rock,  of  which  it  has  long  been  dis- 
puted whether  it  was  the  work  of  nature  or  of  human  industry. 
The  outlet  of  the  cavern  was  concealed  by  a  thick  wood,  and 
the  mouth  which  opened  into  the  valley  was  closed  with  gates 
of  iron  forged  by  the  artificers  of  ancient  days,  so  massy  that 
no  man  could  without  the  help  of  engines  open  or  shut  them. 


8  RASSELAS.  • 

From  the  mountains  on  every  side,  rivulets  descended  that 
filled  all  the  valley  with  verdure  and  fertility,  and  formed  a  lake 
in  the  middle,  inhabited  by  fish  of  every  species,  and  frequented 
by  every  fowl  whom  nature  has  taught  to  dip  the  wing  in  water. 
This  lake  discharged  its  superfluities  by  a  stream  which  en- 
tered a  dark  cleft  of  the  mountain  on  the  northern  side,  and 
fell  with  dreadful  noise  from  precipice  to  precipice  till  it  was 
heard  no  more. 

The  sides  of  the  mountains  were  covered  with  trees,  the 
banks  of  the  brooks  were  diversified  with  flowers ;  every 
blast  shook  spices  from  the  rocks,  and  every  month  dropped 
fruits  upon  the  ground.  All  animals  that  bite  the  grass  or 
browse  the  shrub,  whether  wild  or  tame,  wandered  in  this  ex- 
tensive circuit,  secured  from  beasts  of  prey  by  the  mountains 
which  confined  them.  On  one  part  were  flocks  and  herds  feed- 
ing in  the  pastures,  on  another  all  the  beasts  of  chase  frisking 
in  the  lawns ;  the  sprightly  kid  was  bounding  on  rocks,  the 
subtle  monkey  frolicking  in  the  trees,  and  the  solemn  elephant 
reposing  in  the  shade.  All  the  diversities  of  the  world  were 
brought  together,  the  blessings  of  nature  were  collected,  and 
its  evils  extracted  and  excluded. 

The  valley,  wide  and  fruitful,  supplied  its  inhabitants  with 
the  necessaries  of  life,  and  all  delights  and  superfluities  were 
added  at  the  annual  visit  which  the  emperor  paid  his  children, 
when  the  iron  gate  was  opened  to  the  sound  of  music ;  and 
during  eight  days  every  one  that  resided  in  the  valley  was  re- 
quired to  propose  whatever  might  contribute  to  make  seclusion 
pleasant,  to  fill  up  the  vacancies  of  attention,  and  lessen  the 
tediousness  of  time.  Every  desire  was  immediately  granted. 
All  the  artificers  of  pleasure  were  called  to  gladden  the  festivity ; 
the  musicians  exerted  the  power  of  harmony,  and  the  dancers 
showed  their  activity  before  the  princes,  in  hope  that  they 
should  pass  their  lives  in  this  blissful  captivity ;  to  which  those 
only  were  admitted  whose  performance  was  thought  able  to 
add  novelty  to  luxury.  Such  was  the  appearance  of  security 
and  delight,  which  this  retirement  afforded,  that  they,  to  whom 
it  was  new,  always  desired  that  it  might  be  perpetual ;  and  as 
those,  on  whom  the  iron  gate  had  once  closed,  were  never  suf- 
fered to  return,  the  effect  of  longer  experience  could  not  be 
known.  Thus  every  year  produced  new  schemes  of  delight, 
and  new  competitors  for  imprisonment. 

The  palace  stood  on  an  eminence  raised  about  thirty  paces 
above  the  surface  of  the  lake.  It  was  divided  into  many  squares 
or  courts,  built  with  greater  or  less  magnificence,  according  to 


KASSELAS.  g 

the  rank  of  those  for  whom  they  were  designed.  The  roofs 
were  turned  into  arches  of  massy  stone,  joined  by  a  cement 
that  grew  harder  by  time,  and  the  building  stood  from  century 
to  century  deriding  the  solstitial  rains  and  equinoctial  hurri- 
canes, without  need  of  reparation. 

This  house,  which  was  so  large  as  to  be  fully  known  to  none 
but  some  ancient  officers  who  successively  inherited  the  secrets 
of  the  place,  was  built  as  if  .suspicion  herself  had  dictated  the 
plan.  To  every  room  there  was  an  open  and  secret  passage, 
every  square  had  a  communication  with  the  rest,  either  from 
the  upper  storeys  by  private  galleries,  or  by  subterranean  pas- 
sages from  the  lower  apartments.  Many  of  the  columns  had 
unsuspected  cavities,  in  which  a  long  race  of  monarchs  had 
deposited  their  treasures.  They  then  closed  up  the  opening 
with  marble,  which  was  never  to  be  removed  but  in  the  utmost 
exigences  of  the  kingdom  :  and  recorded  their  accumulations 
in  a  book,  which  was  itself  concealed  in  a  tower  not  entered 
but  by  the  emperor  attended  by  the  prince  who  stood  next  in 
succession, 


CHAPTER  II, 

The  discontent  of  Rasselas  in  the  happy  valley. 

HERE  the  sons  and  daughters  of  Abyssinia  lived  only  to 
know  the  soft  vicissitudes  of  pleasure  and  repose,  attended  by 
all  that  were  skilful  to  delight,  and  gratified  with  whatever  the 
senses  can  enjoy.  They  wandered  in  gardens  of  fragrance,  and 
slept  in  the  fortresses  of  security.  Every  art  was  practiced  to 
make  them  pleased  with  their  own  condition.  The  sages  who 
instructed  them  told  them  of  nothing  but  the  miseries  of  public 
life,  and  described  all  beyond  the  mountains  as  regions  of 
calamity,  where  discord  was  always  raging,  and  where  man 
preyed  upon  man. 

To  heighten  their  opinion  of  their  own  felicity,  they  were 
daily  entertained  with  songs,  the  subject  of  which  was  the 
happy  valley.  Their  appetites  were  excited  by  frequent  enu- 
merations of  different  enjoyments  ;  and  revelry  and  merriment 
was  the  business  of  every  hour  from  the  dawn  of  morning  to 
the  close  of  even. 

These    methods    were   generally    successful  :    few  of   the 
princes  had  ever  wished   to  enlarge   their  bounds,  but  passed 


10  R ASS  EL  AS. 

their  lives  in  full  conviction  that  they  had  all  within  their  reach 
that  art  or  nature  could  bestow,  and  pitied  those  whom  fate 
had  excluded  from  this  seat  of  tranquillity,  as  the  sport  of 
chance  and  the  slaves  of  misery. 

Thus  they  rose  in  the  morning  and  lay  down  at  night, 
pleased  with  each  other  and  with  themselves  ;  all  but  Rasselas, 
who  in  the  twenty-sixth  year  of  his  age  began  to  withdraw  him- 
self from  their  pastimes  and  assemblies,  and  to  delight  in  soli- 
tary walks  and  silent  meditation.  He  often  sat  before  tables 
covered  with  luxury,  and  forgot  to  taste  the  dainties  that  were 
placed  before  him  ;  he  rose  abruptly  in  the  midst  of  the  song 
and  hastily  retired  beyond  the  sound  of  music.  His  attendants 
observed  the  change  and  endeavored  to  renew  his  love  of 
pleasure  ;  he  neglected  their  officiousness,  and  repulsed  their 
invitations,  and  spent  day  after  day  on  the  banks  of  rivulets 
sheltered  with  trees,  where  he  sometimes  listened  to  the  birds 
in  the  branches,  sometimes  observed  the  fish  playing  in  the 
stream,  and  anon  cast  his  eyes  upon  the  pastures  and  moun- 
tains filled  with  animals,  of  which  some  were  biting  the  herbage, 
and  some  sleeping  among  the  bushes. 

This  singularity  of  his  humor  made  him  much  observed. 
One  of  the  sages,  in  whose  conversation  he  had  formerly  de- 
lighted, followed  him  secretly,  in  hope  of  discovering  the  cause 
of  his  disquiet.  Rasselas,  who  knew  not  that  any  one  was 
near  him,  having  for  some  time  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  goats, 
that  were  browsing  among  the  rocks,  began  to  compare  their 
condition  with  his  own. 

"  What,"  said  he,  "  makes  the  difference  between  man  and 
all  the  rest  of  the  animal  creation  ?  Every  beast  that  strays 
beside  me  has  the  same  corporal  necessities  with  myself  ;  he  is 
hungry  and  crops  the  grass,  he  is  thirsty  and  drinks  the  stream, 
his  thirst  and  hunger  are  appeased,  he  is  satisfied  and  sleeps ; 
he  rises  again  and  is  hungry,  he  is  again  fed  and  is  at  rest.  I 
am  hungry  and  thirsty  like"  him,  but  when  thirst  and  hunger 
cease  I  am  not  at  rest ;  I  am,  like  him,  pained  with  want,  but 
am  not,  like  him,  satisfied  with  fulness.  The  intermediate 
hours  are  tedious  and  gloomy  ;  I  long  again  to  be  hungry,  that  I 
may  again  quicken  my  attention.  The  birds  pick  the  berries  or 
the  corn,  and  fly  away  to  the  groves,  where  they  sit  in  seeming 
happiness  on  the  branches,  and  waste  their  lives  in  tuning  one 
unvaried  series  of  sounds.  I  likewise  can  call  the  lutanist  and 
the  singer,  but  the  sounds  that  pleased  me  yesterday  weary  me 
to-day,  and  will  grow  yet  more  wearisome  to-morrow.  I  can 
discover  within  me  no  power  of  perception  which  is  not  glutted 


KASSSLAS.  It 

with  its  proper  pleasure,  yet  I  do  not  feel  myself  delighted. 
Man  surely  has  some  latent  sense  for  which  this  place  affords  no 
gratification ;  or  he  has  some  desires,  distinct  from  sense, 
which  must  be  satisfied  before  he  can  be  happy." 

After  this  he  lifted  up  his  head,  and,  seeing  the  moon  ris- 
ing walked  towards  the  palace.  As  he  passed  through  the 
fields,  and  saw  the  animals  around  him,  "  Ye,"  said  he,  "  are 
happy,  and  need  not  envy  me  that  walk  thus  among  you.  bur- 
dened with  myself;  nor  do  I,  ye  gentle  beings,  envy  your  feli- 
city ;  for  it  is  not  the  felicity  of  man.  I  have  many  distresses 
from  which  ye  are  free  :  I  fear  pain  when  I  do  not  feel  it  ;  I 
sometimes  shrink  at  evils  recollected,  and  sometimes  start  at 
evils  anticipated.  Surely  the  equity  of  Providence  has  balanced 
peculiar  sufferings  with  peculiar  enjoyments." 

With  observations  like  these  the  prince  amused  himself  as 
he  returned;  uttering  them  with  a  plaintive  voice,  yet  with  a 
look  that  discovered  him  to  feel  some  complacence  in  his  own 
perspicacity,  and  to  receive  some  solace  of  the  miseries  of  life 
from  consciousness  of  the  delicacy  with  which  he  felt,  and  the 
eloquence  with  which  he  bewailed  them.  He  mingled  cheer- 
fully in  the  diversions  of  the  evening,  and  all  rejoiced  to  find 
that  his  heart  was  lightened. 


CHAPTER  TIL 

The  wants  of  him  that  wants  nothing;/ 

ON  the  next  day  his  old  instructor,  imagining  that  he  had 
now  made  himself  acquainted  with  his  disease  of  mind,  was  in 
hope  of  curing  it  by  counsel,  and  officiously  sought  an  oppor- 
tunity of  conference  ;  which  the  prince  having  long  considered 
him  as  one  whose  intellects  were  exhausted,  was  not  very  will- 
ing to  afford  :  "  Why,"  said  he,  "  does  this  man  thus  intrude 
upon  me  ;  shall  I  be  never  suffered  to  forget  those  lectures 
which  pleased  only  while  they  were  ne\v,and  to  become  new  again 
must  be  forgotten  ?  "  He  then  walked  into  the  wood,  and  com- 
posed himself  to  his  usual  meditations  ;  when, before  his  thoughts 
had  taken  any  settled  form,  he  perceived  his  pursuer  at  his  side, 
and  was  at  first  prompted  by  his  impatience  to  go  hastily  away  ; 
but  being  unwilling  to  offend  a  man  whom  he  had  once  rever- 
enced and  still  loved,  he  invited  him  to  sit  down  with  him  on 
the  bank 


12  RASSELAS. 

The  old  man,  thus  encouraged,  began  to  lament  the  change 
which  had  been  lately  observed  in  the  prince,  and  to  inquire 
why  he  so  often  retired  from  the  pleasures  of  the  palace,  to 
loneliness  and  silence?  "I  fly  from  pleasures,"  said  the 
prince,  "  because  pleasure  has  ceased  to  please ;  I  am  lonely 
because  I  am  miserable,  and  am  unwilling  to  cloud  with  my 
presence  the  happiness  of  others."  "You,  sir,"  said  the  sage, 
"  are  the  first  who  has  complained  of  misery  in  the  happy  valley. 
I  hope  to  convince  you  that  your  complaints  have  no  real 
cause.  You  are  here  in  full  possession  of  all  that  the  emperor 
of  Abyssinia  can  bestow  ;  here  is  neither  labor  to  be  endured 
nor  danger  to  be  dreaded,  yet  here  is  all  that  labor  or  danger 
can  procure  or  purchase.  Look  round  and  tell  me  which  of 
your  wants  is  without  supply ;  if  you  want  nothing  how  are  you 
unhappy  ?  " 

"That  I  want  nothing,"  said  the  prince,  "  nor  that  I  know 
not  what  I  want,  is  the  cause  of  my  complaint.  If  I  had  any 
known  want,  I  should  have  a  certain  wish  ;  that  wish  would  ex- 
cite endeavor,  and  I  should  not  then  repine  to  see  the  sun 
move  so  slowly  towards  the  western  mountain,  or  lament  when 
the  day  breaks,  and  sleep  will  no  longer  hide  me  from  myself. 
When  I  see  the  kids  and  the  lambs  chasing  one  another,  I  fancy 
that  I  should  be  happy  if  I  had  something  to  pursue.  But, 
possessing  all  that  I  can  want,  I  find  one  day  and  one  hour  ex- 
actly like  another,  except  that  the  latter  is  still  more  tedious 
than  the  former.  Let  your  experience  inform  me  how  the  day 
may  now  seem  as  short  as  in  my  childhood,  while  nature  was 
yet  fresh,  and  every  moment  showed  me  what  I  never  had  ob- 
served before.  I  have  already  enjoyed  too  much  ;  give  me 
something  to  desire." 

The  old  man  was  surprised  at  this  new  species  of  affliction, 
and  knew  not  what  to  reply,  yet  was  unwilling  to  be  silent. 
"  Sir,"  said  he,  "  if  you  had  seen  the  miseries  of  the  world,  you 
would  know  how  to  value  your  present  state."  "  Now,"  said 
the  prince,  "  you  have  given  me  something  to  desire  ;  I  shall 
long  to  see  the  miseries  of  the  world,  since  the  sight  of  them  is 
necessary  to  happiness." 


KASSELAb. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

The  Prince  continues  to  grieve  and  muse. 

AT  this  time  the  sound  of  music  proclaimed  the  hour  of  repast, 
and  the  conversation  was  concluded.  The  old  man  went  away 
sufficiently  discontented,  to  find  that  his  reasonings  had  pro- 
duced the  only  conclusion  which  they  were  intended  to  pre- 
vent. But  in  the  decline  of  life  shame  and  grief  are  of  short 
duration  ;  whether  it  be  that  we  bear  easily  what  we  have 
borne  long  ;  or  that,  finding  ourselves  in  age  less  regarded,  we 
less  regard  others  ;  or,  that  we  look  with  slight  regard  upon 
afflictions  to  which  we  know  that  the  hand  of  death  is  about  to 
put  an  end. 

The  prince,  whose  views  were  extended  to  a  wider  space, 
could  not  speedily  quiet  his  emotions.  He  had  been  before 
terrified  at  the  length  of  life  which  nature  promised  him,  be- 
cause he  considered  that  in  a  long  time  much  must  be  endured  ; 
he  now  rejoiced  in  his  youth,  because  in  many  years  much 
might  be  done. 

This  first  beam  of  hope,  that  had  been  ever  darted  into  his 
mind,  rekindled  youth  in  his  cheeks,  and  doubled  the  lustre  of 
his  eyes.  He  was  fired  with  the  desire  of  doing  something, 
though  he  knew  not  yet  with  distinctness  either  end  or  means. 

He  was  now  no  longer  gloomy  and  unsocial ;  but,  consider- 
ing himself  as  master  of  a  secret  stock  of  happiness,  which  he 
could  enjoy  only  by  concealing  it,  he  affected  to  be  busy  in  all 
schemes  of  diversion,  and  endeavored  to  make  others  pleased 
with  the  state  of  which  he  himself  was  weary.  But  pleasures 
never  can  be  so  multiplied  or  continued  as  not  to  4eave  much 
of  life  unemployed  ;  there  were  many  hours,  both  of  the  night 
and  day,  which  he  could  spend  without  suspicion  in  solitary 
thought.  The  load  of  life  was  much  lightened ;  he  went  ea- 
gerly into  the  assemblies,  because  he  supposed  the  frequency  of 
his  presence  necessary  to  the  success  of  his  purposes ;  he  re- 
tired gladly  to  privacy,  because  he  had  now  a  subject  of  thought. 

His  chief  amusement  was  to  picture  to  himself  that  world 
which  he  had  never  seen  ;  to  place  himself  in  various  con- 
ditions ;  to  be  entangled  in  imaginary  difficulties,  and  to  be 
engaged  in  wild  adventures ;  but  his  benevolence  always 


14  RASSELAS. 

terminated  his  projects  in  the  relief  of  distress,  the  detection  of 
fraud,  the  defeat  of  oppression,  and  the  diffusion  of  happiness. 

Thus  passed  twenty  months  of  the  life  of  Rasselas.  He 
busied  himself  so  intensely  in  visionary  bustle  that  he  forgot 
his  real  solitude  ;  and,  amidst  hourly  preparations  for  the  var- 
ious incidents  of  human  affairs,  neglected  to  consider  by  what 
means  he  should  mingle  with  mankind. 

One  day,  as  he  was  sitting  on  a  bank,  he  feigned  to  himself 
an  orphan  virgin  robbed  of  her  little  portion  by  a  treacherous 
lover,  and  crying  after  him  for  restitution  and  redress.  So 
strongly  was  the  image  impressed  upon  his  mind  that  he  started 
up  in  the  maid's  defence,  and  ran  forward  to  seize  the  plun- 
derer, with  all  the  eagerness  of  real  pursuit.  Fear  naturally 
quickens  the  flight  of  guilt.  Rasselas  could  not  catch  the  fugi- 
tive with  his  utmost  efforts  ;  but,  resolving  to  weary,  by  per- 
severance, him  whom  he  could  not  surpass  in  speed,  he  pressed 
on  till  the  foot  of  the  mountain  stopped  his  course. 

Here  he  recollected  himself,  and  smiled  at  his  own  useless 
impetuosity.  Then,  raising  his  eyes  to  the  mountain,  "  This," 
said  he,  "  is  the  fatal  obstacle  that  hinders  at  once  the  enjoy- 
ment of  pleasure,  and  the  exercise  of  virtue.  How  long  is  it 
that  my  hopes  and  wishes  have  flown  beyond  this  boundary  of 
my  life,  which  yet  I  never  have  attempted  to  surmount !  " 

Struck  with  this  reflection,  he  sat  down  to  muse ;  and  re- 
membered, that  since  he  first  resolved  to  escape  from  his  con- 
finement, the  sun  had  passed  twice  over  him  in  his  annual 
course.  He  now  felt  a  degree  of  regret  with  which  he  had 
never  been  before  acquainted.  He  considered  how  much 
might  have  been  done  in  the  time  which  had  passed,  and  left 
nothing  real  behind  it.  He  compared  twenty  months  with  the 
life  of  man.  "  In  life,"  said  he,  "  is  not  to  be  counted  the 
ignorance  of  infancy,  or  imbecility  of  age.  We  are  long  before 
we  are  able  to  think,  and  we  soon  cease  from  the  power  of  act- 
ing. The  true  period  of  human  existence  may  be  reasonably 
estimated  at  forty  years,  of  which  I  have  mused  away  the  four 
and  twentieth  part.  What  I  have  lost  was  certain,  for  I  have 
certainly  possessed  it ;  but  of  twenty  months  to  come  who  can 
assure  me  ? " 

The  consciousness  of  his  own  folly  pierced  him  deeply,  and 
he  was  long  before  he  could  be  reconciled  to  himself.  "  The 
rest  of  my  time,"  said  he,  "  has  been  lost  by  the  crime  or  folly 
of  my  ancestors  and  the  absurd  institutions  of  my  country ;  I 
remember  it  with  disgust,  yet  without  remorse  :  but  the  months 
that  have  passed  since  new  light  darted  into  my  soul,  since  I 


RASSELAS.  15 

formed  a  scheme  of  reasonable  felicity,  have  been  squandered 
by  my  own  fault.  I  have  lost  that  which  can  never  be  restored  ; 
I  have  seen  the  sun  rise  and  set  for  twenty  months,  an  idle 
gazer  on  the  light  of  heaven :  in  this  time  the  birds  have  left 
the  nest  of  their  mother,  and  committe/1  themselves  to  the 
woods  and  to  the  skies  :  the  kid  has  forsaken  the  teat,  and 
learned  by  degrees  to  climb  the  rocks  in  quest  of  independent 
sustenance.  I  only  have  made  no  advances,  but  am  still  help- 
less and  ignorant.  The  moon,  by  more  than  twenty  changes, 
admonished  me  of  the  flux  of  life  ;  the  stream  that  rolled  before 
my  feet  upbraided  my  inactivity.  I  sat  feasting  on  intellectual 
luxury,  regardless  alike  of  the  examples  of  the  earth,  and  of  the 
instructions  of  the  planets.  Twenty  months  are  passed,  who 
shall  restore  them?" 

These  sorrowful  meditations  fastened  upon  his  mind ;  he 
passed  four  months  in  resolving  to  lose  no  more  time  in  idle 
resolves  ;  and  was  awakened  to  more  vigorous  exertion  by 
hearing  a  maid,  who  had  broken  a  porcelain  cup,  remark,  that 
what  cannot  be  repaired  is  not  to  be  regretted. 

This  was  obvious  ;  and  Rasselas  reproached  himself  that 
he  had  not  discovered  it,  having  not  known  or  not  considered 
how  many  useful  hints  are  obtained  by  chance,  and  how  often 
the  mind,  hurried  by  her  own  ardor  to  distant  views,  neglects 
the  truths  that  lie  open  before  her.  He,  for  a  few  hours,  re- 
gretted his  regret,  and  from  that  time  bent  his  whole  mind 
upon  the  means  of  escaping  from  the  valley  of  happiness. 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  ^-ince  Meditates  his  Escape. 

HE  now  found  that  it  would  be  very  difficult  to  effect  that 
which  it  was  very  easy  to  suppose  effected.  When  he  looked 
round  about  him,  he  saw  himself  confined  by  the  bars  of  nature, 
which  had  never  yet  been  broken,  and  by  the  gate,  through 
which  none  that  once  had  passed  it  were  ever  able  to  return. 
He  was  now  impatient  as  an  eagle  in  the  grate.  He  passed 
week  after  week  in  clambering  the  mountains,  to  see  if  there 
was  any  aperture  which  the  bushes  might  conceal,  but  found  all 
the  summits  inaccessible  by  their  prominence.  The  iron  gate 
he  despaired  to  open  ;  for  it  was  not  only  secured  with  all  the 
powers  of  art,  but"  was  always  watched  by  successive  sentinels, 


X6  RASSELAS. 

and  was  by  its  position  exposed  to  the  perpetual  observation  of 
all  the  inhabitants. 

He  then  examined  the  cavern  through  which  the  waters  of 
the  lake  were  discharged ;  and,  looking  down  at  a  time  when 
the  sun  shone  strongly  upon  its  mouth,  he  discovered  it  to  be 
full  of  broken  pocks,  which,  though  they  permitted  the  stream 
to  flow  through  many  narrow  passages,  would  stop  anybody  of 
solid  bulk.  He  returned  discouraged  and  dejected  ;  but,  hav- 
ing now  known  the  blessing  of  hope,  resolved  never  to  despair. 

In  these  fruitless  searches  he  spent  ten  months.  The  time, 
however,  passed  cheerfully  away :  in  the  morning  he  rose  with 
new  hope,  in  the  evening  applauded  his  own  diligence,  and  in 
the  night  slept  sound  after  his  fatigue.  He  met  a  thousand 
amusements  which  beguiled  his  labor  and  diversified  his 
thoughts.  He  discerned  the  various  instincts  of  animals  and 
properties  of  plants,  and  found  the  place  replete  with  wonders, 
of  which  he  purposed  to  solace  himself  with  the  contemplation, 
if  he  should  never  be  able  to  accomplish  his  flight ;  rejoicing 
that  his  endeavors,  though  yet  unsuccessful,  had  supplied  him 
with  a  source  of  inexhaustible  inquiry. 

But  hie  original  curiosity  was  not  yet  abated  ;  he  resolved 
to  obtain  some  knowledge  of  the  ways  of  men.  His  wish  still 
continued,  but  his  hope  grew  less.  He  ceased  to  survey  any 
longer  the  walls  of  his  prison,  and  spared  to  search  by  new 
toils  for  interstices  which  he  knew  could  not  be  found,  yet  deter- 
mined to  keep  his  design  always  in  view,  and  lay  hold  on  any 
expedient  that  time  should  offer. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A  Dissertation  on  the  Art  of  Flying. 

AMONG  the  artists  that  had  been  allured  into  the  happy 
valley,  to  labor  for  the  accommodation  and  pleasure  of  its  in- 
habitants, was  a  man  eminent  for  his  knowledge  of  the  me- 
chanic powers,  who  had  contrived  many  engines  both  of  use 
and  recreation.  By  a  wheel  which  the  stream  turned  he  forced 
the  water  into  a  tower,  whence  it  was  distributed  to  all  the 
apartments  of  the  palace.  He  erected  a  pavilion  in  the  garden, 
around  which  he  kept  the  air  always  cool  by  artificial  showers. 
One  of  the  groves,  appropriated  to  the  ladies,  was  ventilated 
by  fans,  to  which  the  rivulet  that  ran  through  it  gave  a  con- 
stant motion ;  the  instruments  of  soft  music  were  placed  at 


RASSELAS.  17 

proper  distances,  of  which  some  played  by  the  impulse  of  the 
wind,  and  some  by  the  power  of  the  stream. 

This  artist  was  sometimes  visited  by  Rasselas,  who  was 
pleased  with  every  kind  of  knowledge,  imagining  that  the  time 
would  come  when  all  his  acquisitions  should  be  of  use  to  him 
in  the  open  world.  He  came  one  day  to  amuse  himself  in  his 
usual  manner,  and  found  the  master  busy  in  building  a  sailing 
chariot :  he  saw  that  the  design  was  practicable  upon  a  level 
surface,  and  with  expressions  of  great  esteem  solicited  its  com- 
pletion. The  workman  was  pleased  to  find  himself  so  much 
regarded  by  the  prince,  and  resolved  to  gain  yet  higher  honors. 
"  Sir,"  said  he,  "  you  have  seen  but  a  small  part  of  what  the 
mechanic  sciences  can  perform.  I  have  been  long  of  opinion, 
that,  instead  of  the  tardy  conveyance  of  ships  and  chariots, 
man  might  use  the  swifter  migration  of  wings  ;  that  the  fields  of 
air  are  open  to  knowledge,  and  that  only  ignorance  and  idle- 
ness need  crawl  upon  the  ground." 

This  hint  rekindled  the  prince's  desire  of  passing  the  moun- 
tains :  having  seen  what  the  mechanist  had  already  performed, 
he  was  willing  to  fancy  that  he  could  do  more ;  yet  resolved  to 
inquire  further,  before  he  suffered  hope  to  afflict  him  by  disap- 
pointment. "  I  am  afraid,"  said  he  to  the  artist,  "  that  your  im- 
agination prevails  over  your  skill,  and  that  you  now  tell  me 
rather  what  you  wish  than  what  you  know.  Every  animal  has 
his  element  assigned  him  ;  the  birds  have  the  air,  and  man  and 
beasts  the  earth."  "  So,"  replied  the  mechanist,  fishes  have 
the  water,  in  which  yet  beasts  can  swim  by  nature,  and  men  by 
art.  He  that  can  swim  needs  not  despair  to  fly ;  to  swim  is 
to  fly  in  a  grosser  fluid,  and  to  fly  is  to  swim  in  a  subtler.  We 
are  only  to  proportion  our  power  of  resistance  to  the  different 
density  of  matter  through  which  we  are  to  pass.  You  will  be 
necessarily  upborne  by  the  air,  if  you  can  renew  any  impulse 
upon  it  faster  than  the  air  can  recede  from  the  pressure." 

"  But  the  exercise  of  swimming,"  said  the  prince,  is  "  very 
laborious  ;  the  strongest  limbs  are  soon  wearied  ;  I  am  afraid 
the  act  of  flying  will  be  yet  more  violent ;  and  wings  will  be  of 
no  great  use  unless  we  can  fly  further  than  we  can  swim." 

"The  labor  of  rising  from  the  ground,"  said  the  artist, 
"  will  be  great,  as  we  see  it  in  the  heavier  domestic  fowls,  but 
as  we  mount  higher,  the  earth's  attraction  and  the  body's 
gravity  will  be  gradually  diminished,  till  we  shall  arrive  at  a 
region  where  the  man  will  float  in  the  air  without  any  tendency 
to  fall  ;  no  care  will  then  be  necessary  but  to  move  forwards, 
which  the  gentlest  impulse  will  effect.  You,  sir,  whose  curiosity 


1 8  R  ASS  EL  AS 

is  so  extensive,  will  easily  conceive  with  what  pleasure  a  philoso- 
pher, furnished  with  wings,  and  hovering  in  the  sky,  would  see 
the  earth,  and  all  its  inhabitants,  rolling  beneath  him,  and  pre- 
senting to  him  successively,  by  its  diurnal  motion,  all  the  coun- 
tries within  the  same  parallel.  How  must  it  amuse  the  pen- 
dent spectator  to  see  the  moving  scene  of  land  and  ocean, 
cities  and  deserts  !  To  survey  with  equal  serenity  the  marts 
of  trade  and  the  fields  of  battle  ;  mountains  infested  by  bar- 
barians, and  fruitful  regions  gladdened  by  plenty  and  lulled  by 
peace  !  How  easily  shall  we  then  trace  the  Nile  through  all 
his  passage  ;  pass  over  to  distant  regions,  and  examine  the  face 
of  nature  from  one  extremity  to  the  other  i " 

"  All  this,"  said  the  prince,  "  is  much  to  be  desired  ;  but  I 
am  afraid  that  no  man  will  be  able  to  breathe  in  these  regions 
of  speculation  and  tranquillity.  I  have  been  told  that  respira- 
tion is  difficult  upon  lofty  mountains,  yet  from  these  precipices, 
though  so  high  as  to  produce  great  tenuity  of  air,  it  is  very 
easy  to  fall :  therefore  I  suspect,  that,  from  any  height  where 
life  can  be  supported,  there  maybe  danger  of  too  quick  descent." 

"  Nothing,"  replied  the  artist,  "  will  ever  be  attempted,  if 
all  possible  objections  must  be  first  overcome.  If  you  will 
favor  my  project,  I  will  try  the  first  flight  at  my  own  hazard.  I 
have  considered  the  structure  of  all  volant  animals,  and  find 
the  folding  continuity  of  the  bat's  wings  most  easily  accommo- 
dated to  the  human  form.  Upon  this  model  I  shall  begin  my 
task  to-morrow,  and  in  a  year  expect  to  tower  in  the  air  beyond 
the  malice  and  pursuit  of  man.  But  I  will  work  only  on  this 
condition,  that  the  art  shall  not  be  divulged,  and  that  you 
shall  not  require  me  to  make  wings  for  any  but  ourselves." 

"  Why,"  said  Rasselas,  "  should  you  envy  others  so  great 
an  advantage  ?  All  skill  ought  to  be  exerted  for  universal 
good  ;  every  man  has  owed  much  to  others,  and  ought  to  repay 
the  kindness  that  he  has  received." 

"  If  men  were  all  virtuous,"  returned  the  artist,  "  I  should 
with  great  alacrity  teach  them  all  to  fly.  But  what  would  be  the 
security  of  the  good,  if  the  bad  could  at  pleasure  invade  them 
from  the  sky  ?  Against  an  army  sailing  through  the  clouds, 
neither  walls,  nor  mountains,  nor  seas  could  affbrd  any  security. 
A  flight  of  northern  savages  might  hover  in  the  wind,  and  light 
at  once  with  irresistible  violence  upon  the  capital  of  a  fruitful 
region  that  was  rolling  under  them.  Even  this  valley,  the  re- 
treat of  princes,  the  abode  of  happiness,  might  be  violated  by 
the  sudden  descent  of  some  of  the  naked  nations  that  swarm 
on  the  coast  of  the  southern  sea." 


RASSELAS.  I9 

The  prince  promised  secrecy,  and  waited  for  the  perform- 
ance, not  wholly  hopeless  of  success.  He  visited  the  work 
from  time  to  time,  observed  its  progress,  and  remarked  many 
ingenious  contrivances  to  facilitate  motion,  and  unite  levity 
with  strength.  The  artist  was  every  day  more  certain  that  he 
should  leave  vultures  and  eagles  behind  him,  and  the  conta- 
gion of  his  confidence  seized  upon  the  prince. 

In  a  year  the  wings  were  finished  ;  and,  on  a  morning  ap- 
pc'nted,  the  maker  appeared  furnished  for  flight  on  a  little  pro- 
montory :  he  waved  his  pinions  awhile  to  gather  air,  then 
leaped  from  his  stand,  and  in  an  instant  dropped  into  the  lake. 
His  wings,  which  were  of  no  use  in  the  air,  sustained  him  in 
the  water,  and  the  prince  drew  him  to  land,  half  dead  with 
terror  and  vexation. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  Prince  finds  a  Man  of  Learning. 

THE  prince  was  not  much  afflicted  by  this  disaster,  having 
suffered  himself  to  hope  for  a  happier  event,  only  because 
he  had  no  other  means  of  escape  in  view.  He  still  persisted 
in  his  design  to  leave  the  happy  valley  by  the  first  oppor- 
tunity. 

His  imagination  was  now  at  a  stand;  he  had  no  prospect 
of  entering  into  the  world ;  and,  notwithstanding  all  his  en- 
deavors to  support  himself,  discontent  by  degrees  preyed  upon 
him,  and  he  began  again  to  lose  his  thoughts  in  sadness,  when 
the  rainy  season,  which  in  these  countries  is  periodical,  made 
it  inconvenient  to  wander  in  the  woods. 

The  rain  continued  longer  and  with  more  violence  than  had 
ever  been  known  ;  the  clouds  broke  on  the  surrounding  moun- 
tains, and  the  torrents  streamed  into  the  plain  on  every  side, 
till  the  cavern  was  too  narrow  to  discharge  the  water.  The  lake 
overflowed  its  banks,  and  all  the  level  of  the  valley  was  covered 
with  the  inundation.  The  eminence  on  which  the  palace  was 
built,  and  some  other  spots  of  rising  ground,  were  all  that  the 
eye  could  now  discover.  The  herds  and  flocks  left  the  pas- 
tures, and  both  the  wild  beasts  and  the  tame  retreated  to  the 
mountains. 

This  inundation  confined  all  the  princes  to  domestic 
amusements,  and  the  attention  of  Rasselas  was  particularly 
seized  by  a  poem,  which  Imlac  rehearsed  upon  the  various 


20  JfASSELAS. 

conditions  of  humanity.  He  commanded  the  poet  to  attend 
him  in  his  apartment,  and  recite  his  verses  a  second  time  ; 
then  entering,  into  familiar  talk,  he  thought  himself  happy  in 
having  found  a  man  who  knew  the  world  so  well,  and  could  so 
skilfully  paint  the  scenes  of  life.  He  asked  a  thousand  ques- 
tions about  things,  to  which,  though  common  to  all  other  mor- 
tals, his  confinement  from  childhood  had  kept  him  a  stranger. 
The  poet  pitied  his  ignorance  and  loved  his  curiosity,  and  en- 
tertained him  from  day  to  day  with  novelty  and  instruction,  so 
that  the  prince  regretted  the  necessity  of  sleep,  and  longed  till 
the  morning  should  renew  his  pleasure. 

As  they  were  sitting  together  the  prince  commanded  Imlac 
to  relate  his  history,  and  to  tell  by  what  accident  he  was  forced, 
or  by  what  motive  induced,  to  close  his  life  in  the  happy  val- 
ley. As  he  was  going  to  begin  his  narrative,  Rasselas  was 
called  to  a  concert,  and  obliged  to  restrain  his  curiosity  till  the 
evening. 


CHAPTER  VIII, 

The  History  of  Imlac. 

THE  close  of  the  day  is,  in  the  regions  of  the  torrid  zone, 
the  only  season  of  diversion  and  entertainment,  and  it  was 
therefore  midnight  before  the  music  ceased,  and  the  princes 
retired.  Rasselas  then  called  for  his  companion  and  required 
him  to  begin  the  story  of  his  life. 

"  Sir,"  said  Imlac,  "  my  history  will  not  be  long :  the  life 
that  is  devoted  to  knowledge  passes  silently  away,  and  is  very 
little  diversified  by  events.  To  talk  in  public,  to  think  in  soli- 
tude, to  read  and  to  hear,  to  inquire  and  answer  inquiries,  is 
the  business  of  a  scholar.  He  wanders  about  the  world  with- 
out pomp  or  terror,  and  is  neither  known  nor  valued  but  by 
men  like  himself. 

"  I  was  born  in  the  kingdom  of  Goiama,  at  no  great  dis- 
tance from  the  fountain  of  the  Nile.  My  father  was  a  wealthy 
merchant,  who  traded  between  the  inland  countries  of  Afric 
and  the  ports  of  the  Red  Sea.  He  was  honest,  frugal,  and 
diligent,  but  o'f  mean  sentiments  and  narrow  comprehension  • 
he  desired  only  to  be  rich,  and  to  conceal  his  riches,  lest  he 
should  be  spoiled  by  the  governors  of  the  province." 

"  Surely,"  said  the  prince,  "my  father  must  be  negligent  of 
his  charge,  if  any  man  in  his  dominions  dares  take  that  which 


RASSELAS.  21 

belongs  to  another.  Does  he  not  know  that  kings  are  ac- 
countable for  injustice  permitted  as  well  as  done  ?  If  I  were 
emperor,  not  the  meanest  of  my  subjects  should  be  oppressed 
with  impunity.  My  blood  boils  when  I  am  told  that  a  mer- 
chant durst  not  enjoy  his  honest  gains  for  fear  of  losing  them 
by  the  rapacity  of  power.  Name  the  governor  who  robbed  the 
people  that  I  may  declare  his  crimes  to  the  emperor." 

"  Sir,"  said  Imlac,  "  your  ardor  is  the  natural  effect  of 
virtue  animated  by  youth  :  the  time  will  come  when  you  will 
acquit  your  father,  and  perhaps  hear  with  less  impatience  of 
the  governor.  Oppression  is,  in  the  Abyssinian  dominions, 
neither  frequent  nor  tolerated  :  but  no  form  of  government  has 
yet  been  discovered,  by  which  cruelty  can  be  wholly  prevented. 
Subordination  supposes  power  on  the  one  part,  and  subjection 
on  the  other,  and  if  power  be  in  the  hands  of  men,  it  will  some- 
times be  abused.  The  vigilance  of  the  supreme  magistrate 
may  do  much,  but  much  will  still  remain  undone.  He  can 
never  know  all  the  crimes  that  are  committed,  and  can  seldom 
punish  all  that  he  knows." 

"  This,"  said  the  prince,  "  I  do  not  understand,  but  I  had 
rather  hear  thee  than  dispute.  Continue  thy  narration." 

"  My  father,"  proceeded  Imlac,  "  originally  intended  that  I 
should  have  no  other  education  than  such  as  might  qualify  me 
for  commerce  ;  and,  discovering  in  me  great  strength  of  mem- 
ory and  quickness  of  apprehension,  often  declared  his  hope 
that  I  should  be  sometime  the  richest  man  in  Abyssinia." 

"  Why,"  said  the  prince,  "  did  thy  father  desire  the  increase 
of  his  wealth,  when  it  was  already  greater  than  he  durst  dis- 
cover or  enjoy  ?  I  am  unwilling  to  doubt  thy  veracity,  yet  in- 
consistencies cannot  both  be  true." 

"  Inconsistencies,"  answered  Imlac,  "  cannot  both  be  right ; 
but,  imputed  to  man,  they  may  both  be  true.  Yet  diversity  is 
not  inconsistency.  My  father  might  expect  a  time  of  greater 
security.  However,  some  desire  is  necessary  to  keep  life  in 
motion  ;  and  he  whose  real  wants  are  supplied  must  admit 
those  of  fancy." 

"  This,"  said  the  prince,  "  I  can  in  some  measure  conceive. 
I  repent  that  I  interrupted  thee." 

"With  this  hope,"  proceeded  Imlac,  "he  sent  me  to  school ; 
but  when  I  had  once  found  the  delight  of  knowledge,  and  felt 
the  pleasure  of  intelligence  and  the  pride  of  invention,  I  began 
silently  to  despise  riches,  and  determined  to  disappoint  the 
purpose  of  my  father,  whose  grossness  of  conception  raised  my 
pity.  I  was  twenty  years  old  before  his  tenderness  would  ex- 


22  RASSELAS. 

pose  me  to  the  fatigue  of  travel,  in  which  time  I  had  been  in- 
structed, by  successive  masters,  in  all  the  literature  of  my 
native  country.  As  every  hour  taught  me  something  new,  I 
lived  in  a  continual  course  of  gratificatio'ns  ;  but  as  I  advanced 
towards  manhood,  I  lost  much  of  the  reverence  with  which  I 
had  been  used  to  look  on  my  instructors :  because,  when  the 
lesson  was  ended,  I  did  not  find  them  wiser  or  better  than  com- 
mon men. 

"  At  length  my  father  resolved  to  initiate  me  in  commerce  : 
and,  opening  one  of  his  subterranean  treasuries,  counted  out 
ten  thousand  pieces  of  gold.  '  This,  young  man,'  said  he,  '  is 
the  stock  with  which  you  must  negotiate.  I  began  with  less 
than  the  fifth  part,  and  you  see  how  diligence  and  parsimony 
have  increased  it.  This  is  your  own  to  waste  or  to  improve. 
If  you  squander  it  by  negligence  or  caprice,  you  must  wait  for 
death  before  you  be  rich  ;  if,  in  four  years,  you  double  your 
stock,  we  will  thenceforward  let  subordination  cease,  and  live 
together  as  friends  and  partners  ;  for  he  shall  be  always  equal 
with  me  who  is  equally  skilled  in  the  art  of  growing  rich." 

"We  laid  our  money  upon  camels,  concealed  in.  bales  of 
cheap  goods,  and  travelled  to  the  shore  of  the  Red  Sea.  When 
I  cast  my  eye  upon  the  expanse  of  waters,  my  heart  bounded 
like  that  of  a  prisoner  escaped.  I  felt  an  unextinguishable 
curiosity  kindle  in  my  mind,  and  resolved  to  snatch  this  oppor- 
tunity of  seeing  the  manners  of  other  nations,  and  of  learning 
sciences  unknown  in  Abyssinia. 

"  I  remember  that  my  father  had  obliged  me  to  the  improve- 
ment of  my  stock,  not  by  a  promise  which  1^  ought  not  to 
violate,  but  by  a  penalty  which  I  was  at  liberty  to  incur  ;  and 
therefore  determined  to  gratify  my  predominant  desire,  and,  by 
drinking  at  the  fountains  of  knowledge,  to  quench  the  thirst  of 
curiosity. 

"  As  I  was  supposed  to  trade  without  connection  with  my 
father,  it  was  easy  for  me  to  become  acquainted  with  the  mas- 
ter of  a  ship,  and  procure  a  passage  to  some  other  country.  I 
had  no  motives  of  choice  to  regulate  my  voyage  :  it  was  suffi- 
cient for  me  that,  wherever  I  wandered,  I  should  see  a  coun- 
try which  I  had  not  seen  before.  I  therefore  entered  a  ship 
bound  for  Surat,  having  left  a  letter  for  my  father  declaring  my 
intention." 


R  ASS  EL  AS.  23 

CHAPTER  IX. 

The  History  of  Imlac  continued. 

I  first  entered  upon  the  world  of  waters,  and  lost 
sight  of  land.  I  looked  round  about  me  with  pleasing  terror, 
and,  thinking  my  soul  enlarged  by  the  boundless  prospect,  im- 
agined that  I  could  gaze  round  without  satiety .  but,  in  a  short 
time,  I  grew  weary  of  looking  on  barren  uniformity,  where  I 
could  only  see  again. what  I  had  already  seen.  I  then  de- 
scended into  the  ship,  and  doubted  for  awhile  whether  all  my 
future  pleasures  would  not  end  like  this,  in  disgust  and  disap- 
pointment Yet,  surely,  said  I,  the  ocean  and  the  land  are 
very  different ;  the  only  variety  of  water  is  rest  and  motion, 
but  the  earth  has  mountains  and  valleys,  deserts  and  cities :  it 
is  inhabited  by  men  of  different  customs  and  contrary  opinions  ; 
and  I  may  hope  to  find  variety  in  life  though  I  should  miss  it 
in  nature. 

"  With  this  thought  I  quieted  my  mind,  and  amused  myself 
during  the  voyage,  sometimes  by  learning  from  the  sailors  the 
art  of  navigation,  which  I  have  never  practiced,  and  sometimes 
by  forming  schemes  for  my  conduct  in  different  situations,  in 
not  one  of  which  I  have  been  ever  placed. 

"  I  was  almost  weary  of  my  naval  amusements  when  we 
landed  safely  at  Surat.  I  secured  my  money,  and  purchasing 
some  commodities  for  show,  joined  myself  to  a  caravan  that 
was  passing  into  the  inland  country.  My  companions,  for 
some  reason  or  other,  conjecturing  that  I  was  rich,  and,  by  my 
inquiries  and  admiration,  finding  that  I  was  ignorant,  considered 
me  as  a  novice  whom  they  had  a  right  to  cheat,  and  who  was  to 
learn  at  the  usual  expense  the  art  of  fraud.  They  exposed  me 
to  the  theft  of  servants  and  the  exaction  of  officers,  and  saw  me 
plundered  upon  false  pretences,  without  any  advantage  to  them- 
selves, but  that  of  rejoicing  in  the  superiority  of  their  own 
knowledge." 

"  Stop  a  moment,"  said  the  prince.  "  Is  there  such  de- 
pravity in  man  as  that  he  should  injure  another  without  benefit 
to  himself?  I  can- easily  conceive  that  all  are  pleased  with 
superiority ;  but  your  ignorance  was  merely  accidental,  which, 
being  neither  your  crime  nor  your  folly,  could  afford  them  no 
reason  to  applaud  themselves :  and  the  knowledge  which  they 

12 


24  RASSELAS 

had,  and  which  you  wanted,  they  might  as  effectually  have 
shown  by  warning  as  betraying  you." 

"Pride,"  said  Imlac,  "is  seldom  delicate,  it  will  please  it- 
self with  very  mean  advantages  ;  and  envy  feels  not  its  own 
happiness,  but  when  it  may  be  compared  with  the  misery  of 
others.  They  were  my  enemies,  because  they  grieved  to  think 
me  rich ,  and  my  oppressors,  because  they  delighted  to  find  me 
weak." 

*'  Proceed,"  said  the  prince  ;  "  I  doubt  not  of  the  facts 
which  you  relate,  but  imagine  that  you  impute  them  to  mistaken 
motives." 

"  In  this  company,"  said  Imlac,  "  I  arrived  at  Agra,  the 
capital  of  Indostan,  the  city  in  which  the  Great  Mogul  com- 
monly resides.  I  applied  myself  to  the  language  of  the  coun- 
try, and  in  a  few  months  was  able  to  converse  with  the  learned 
men  ;  some  of  whom  I  found  morose  and  reserved,  and  others 
easy  and  communicative  ;  some  were  unwilling  to  teach  another 
what  they  had  with  difficulty  learned  themselves  ,  and  some 
showed  that  the  end  of  their  studies  was  to  gain  the  dignity  of 
instructing. 

"  To  the  tutor  of  the  young  princes  I  recommended  myself 
so  much  that  I  was  presented  to  the  emperor  as  a  man 
of  uncommon  knowledge.  The  emperor  asked  me  many  ques- 
tions concerning  my  country  and  my  travels ;  and  though  I 
I  cannot  now  recollect  anything  that  he  uttered  above  the 
power  of  a  common  man,  he  dismissed  me  astonished  at  his 
wisdom,  and  enamored  of  his  goodness. 

"  My  credit  was  now  so  high  that  the  merchants,  with  whom 
I  travelled,  applied  to  me  for  recommendations  to  the  ladies 
of  the  court.  I  was  surprised  at  their  confidence  of  solicita- 
tion, and  gently  reproached  them  with  their  practices  on  the 
road.  They  heard  me  with  cold  indifference,  and  showed  no 
tokens  of  shame  or  sorrow. 

"  They  then  urged  their  request  with  the  offer  of  a  bribe  : 
but  what  I  would  not  do  for  kindness,  I  would  not  do  for 
money ;  and  refused  them,  not  because  they  had  injured  me, 
but  because  I  would  not  enable  them  to  injure  others  ;  for  I 
knew  they  would  have  made  use  of  my  credit  to  cheat  those 
who  should  buy  their  wares. 

"  Having  resided  at  Agra  till  there  was  no  more  to  be 
learned,  I  travelled  into  Persia,  where  I  saw  many  remains  of 
ancient  magnificence,  and  observed  many  new  accommodations 
of  life.  The  Persians  are  a  nation  eminently  social,  and  their 
Assemblies  afforded  me  daily  opportunities  of  remarking  char* 


RASSELAS.  25 

acters  and  manners,  and  of  tracing  human  nature  through  all 
its  variations. 

"  From  Persia  I  passed  into  Arabia,  where  I  saw  a  nation 
at  once  pastoral  and  warlike  ;  who  live  without  any  settled 
habitation  ;  whose  only  wealth  is  their  flocks  and  herds  ;  and 
who  have  yet  carried  on,  through  all  ages,  an  hereditary  war 
with  all  mankind,  though  they  neither  covet  nor  envy  their  pos- 
sessions." 

CHAPTER  X. 
Imlac's  History  continued.    A  Dissertation  on  Poetry. 

"  WHEREVER  I  went,  I  found  that  poetry  was  considered  as 
the  highest  learning,  and  regarded  with  a  veneration  somewhat 
approaching  to  that  which  man  would  pay  to  the  Angelic  Na- 
ture. And  yet  it  fills  me  with  wonder,  that,  in  almost  all  coun- 
tries, the  most  ancient  poets  are  considered  as  the  best ;  whether 
it  be  that  every  other  kind  of  knowledge  is  an  acquisition  grad- 
ually attained,  and  poetry  is  a  gift  conferred  at  once  ;  or  that 
the  first  poetry  of  every  nation  surprised  them  as  a  novelty, 
and  retained  the  credit  by  consent,  which  it  received  by  acci- 
dent at  first  :  or  whether,  as  the  province  of  poetry  is  to  de- 
scribe nature  and  passion,  which  are  always  the  same,  the  first 
writers  took  possession  of  the  most  striking  objects  for  descrip- 
tion,and  the  most  probable  occurrences  for  fiction,  and  left  noth- 
ing to  those  that  followed  them,  but  transcription  of  the  same 
events,  and  new  combinations  of  the  same  images.  Whatever 
be  the  reason,  it  is  commonly  observed  that  the  early  writers 
are  in  possession  of  nature,  and  their  followers  of  art ;  that 
the  first  excel  in  strength  and  invention,  and  the  latter  in  ele- 
gance and  refinement, 

"  I  was  desirous  to  add  my  name  to  this  illustrious  frater- 
nity. I  read  all  the  poets  of  Persia  and  Arabia,  and  was  able 
to  repeat  by  memory  the  volumes  that  are  suspended  in  the 
mosque  of  Mecca.  But  I  soon  found  that  no  man  was  great  by 
imitation.  My  desire  of  excellence  impelled  me  to  transfer  my 
attention  to  nature  and  to  life.  Nature  was  to  be  my  subject, 
and  men  to  be  my  auditors :  I  could  never  describe  what  I  had 
not  seen  :  I  could  not  hope  to  move  those  with  delight  or  ter- 
ror, whose  interests  and  opinions  I  did  not  understand. 

"  Being  now  resolved  to  be  a  poet,  I  saw  everything  with  a 
new  purpose  ;  my  sphere  of  attention  was  suddenly  magnified : 
HP  kind  of  knowledge  was  tq  be  overlooked,  I  ranged  moun^ 


26  KASSELAS. 

tains  and  deserts  for  images  and  resemblances,  and  pictured 
upon  my  mind  every  tree  of  the  forest  and  flower  of  the  .valley. 
I  observed  with  equal  care  the  crags  of  the  rock  and  the  pin- 
nacles of  the  palace.  Sometimes  I  wandered  along  the  mazes  of 
the  rivulet,  and  sometimes  watched  the  changes  of  the  summer 
clouds.  To  a  poet  nothing  can  be  useless.  Whatever  is  beau- 
tiful and  whatever  is  dreadful  must  be  familiar  to  his  imagina- 
tion :  he  must  be  conversant  with  all  that  is  awfully  vast  or 
elegantly  little.  The  plants  of  the  garden,  the  animals  of  the 
wood,  the  minerals  of  the  earth,  and  meteors  of  the  sky,  must 
all  concur  to  store  his  mind  with  inexhaustible  variety  •  for 
every  idea  is  useful  for  the  enforcement  or  decoration  of  moral 
or  religious  truth  ;  and  he  who  knows  most  will  have  most 
power  of  diversifying  his  scenes,  and  of  gratifying  his  reader 
with  remote  allusions  and  unexpected  instruction. 

"  All  the  appearances  of  nature  I  was  therefore  careful  to 
study ;  and  every  country  which  I  have  surveyed  has  contrib- 
uted something  to  my  poetical  powers." 

"  In  so  wide  a  survey,"  said  the  prince,  "you  must  surely 
have  left  much  unobserved.  I  have  lived,  till  now,  within  the 
circuit  of  these  mountains,  and  yet  cannot  walk  abroad  without 
the  sight  of  something  which  I  had  never  beheld  before  or  never 
heeded." 

"  The  business  of  a  poet,"  said  Imlac,  "  is  to  examine,  not 
the  individual,  but  the  species  ;  to  remark  general  properties 
and  large  appearances ;  he  does  not  number  the  streaks  of  the 
tulip,  or  describe  the  different  shades  in  the  verdure  of  the 
forest.  He  is  to  exhibit  in  his  portraits  of  nature  such  prom- 
inent and  striking  features  as  recall  the  original  to  every  mind  ; 
and  must  neglect  the  minuter  discriminations,  which  one  may 
have  remarked,  and  another  have  neglected,  for  those  charac- 
teristics which  are  alike  obvious  to  vigilance  and  carelessness. 

"  But  the  knowledge  of  nature  is  only  half  the  task  of  a 
poet ;  he  must  be  acquainted  likewise  with  all  the  modes  of  life. 
His  character  requires  that  he  estimate  the  happiness  and  mis- 
ery of  every  condition  ;  observe  the  power  of  all  the  passions 
in  all  their  combinations,  and  trace  the  changes  of  the  human 
mind  as  they  are  modified  by  various  institutions  and  accidental 
influences  of  climate  or  custom,  from  the  sprightliness  of  in- 
fancy to  the  despondence  of  decrepitude.  He  must  divest  him- 
self of  the  prejudices  of  his  age  or  country  ;  he  must  consider 
right  and  wrong  in  their  abstracted  and  invariable  state  ;  he 
must  disregard  present  laws  and  opinions,  and  rise  to  general 
and  transcendental  truths,  which  will  always  be  the  same  ;  he 


R  ASS  EL  AS.  27 

must  therefore  content  himself  with  the  slow  progress  of  his 
name;  contemn  the  applause  of  his  own  time,  and  commit  his 
claims  to  the  justice  of  posterity.  He  must  write  as  the  inter- 
preter of  nature,  and  the  legislator  of  mankind,  and  consider 
himself  as  presiding  over  the  thoughts  and  manners  of  future 
generations  ;  as  a  being  superior  to  time  and  place. 

"  His  labor  is  not  yet  at  an  end  ;  he  must  know  many 
languages  and  many  sciences :  and,  that  his  style  may  be 
worthy  of  his  thoughts,  must,  by  incessant  practice,  familiarize 
to  himself  every  delicacy  of  speech  and  grace  of  harmony." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Imlac's  Narrative  continued.    A  Hint  on  Pilgrimage. 

IMLAC  now  felt  the  enthusiastic  fit,  and  was  proceeding  to 
aggrandize  his  own  profession,  when  the  prince  cried  out, 
"  Enough !  thou  hast  convinced  me,  that  no  human  being  can 
ever  be  a  poet.  Proceed  with  thy  narration." 

"  To  be  a  poet,"  said  Imlac,  "  is  indeed  very  difficult." 
"  So  difficult,"  returned  the  prince,  "  that  I  will  at  present 
hear  no  more  of  his  labors.  Tell  me  whither  you  went  when 
you  had  seen  Persia." 

"  From  Persia,"  said  the  poet,  "  I  travelled  through  Syria, 
and  for  three  years  resided  in  Palestine,  where  I  conversed  with 
great  numbers  of  the  northern  and  western  nations  of  Europe ; 
the  nations  which  are  now  in  possession  of  all  power  and  all 
knowledge  :  whose  armies  are  irresistible,  and  whose  fleet- com- 
mand the  remotest  parts  of  the  globe.  When  I  compared  these 
men  with  the  natives  of  our  own  kingdom,  and  those  that  sur- 
round us,  they  appeared  almost  another  order  of  beings.  In  their 
countries  it  is  difficult  to  wish  for  anything  that  may  not  be 
obtained  :  a  thousand  arts,  of  which  we  never  heard,  are  con- 
tinually laboring  for  their  conveniepce  and  pleasure  ;  and 
whatever  their  own  climate  has  denied  them  is  supplied  by  their 
commerce." 

"  By  what  means,"  said  the  prince,  "  are  the  Europeans 
thus  powerful  ;  or  why,  since  they  can  so  easily  visit  Asia  or 
Africa  for  trade  or  conquest,  cannot  the  Asiatics  and  Africans 
invade  their  coasts,  plant  colonies  in  their  ports,  and  give  laws 
to  their  natural  princes  ?  The  same  wind  that  carries  them 
back  would  bring  us'thither." 

"  They  are  more  powerful,  sir,  than  we,"  amswered  Imlac, 


2$.  XASSELAS. 

"  because  they  are  wiser ;  knowledge  will  always  predominate 
over  ignorance,  as  man  governs  the  other  animals.  But  why 
their  knowledge  is  more  than  ours,  I  know  not  what  reason  can 
be  given,  but  the  unsearchable  will  of  the  Supreme  Being." 

"  When,"  said  the  prince  with  a  sigh,  "  shall  I  be  able  to 
visit  Palestine,  and  mingle  with  this  mighty  confluence  of 
nations  ?  Till  that  happy  moment  shall  arrive,  let  me  fill  up 
the  time  with  such  representations  as  thou  canst  give  me.  I 
am  not  ignorant  of  the  motive  that  assembles  such  numbers  in 
that  place,  and  cannot  but  consider  it  as  the  centre  of  wisdom 
and  piety,  to  which  the  best  and  wisest  of  every  land  must  be 
continually  resorting." 

"  There  are  some  nations,"  said  Imlac,  "  that  sen~  few 
visitants  to  Palestine  ;  for  many  numerous  and  learned  sects  in 
Europe  concur  to  censure  pilgrimage  as  superstitious  or  deride 
it  as  ridiculous." 

"  You  know,"  said  the  prince,  "  how  little  my  life  has  made 
me  acquainted  with  diversity  of  opinions  :  it  will  be  too  long  to 
hear  the  arguments  on  both  sides ;  you,  that  have  considered 
them,  tell  me  the  result." 

"  Pilgrimage,"  said  Imlac,  "like  many  other  acts  of  piety, 
may  be  reasonable  or  superstitious,  according  to  the  principles 
upon  which  it  is  performed.  Long  journeys  in  search  of  truth 
are  not  commanded.  Truth,  such  as  is  necessary  to  the  regula- 
tion of  life,  is  always  found  where  it  is  honestly  sought.  Change 
of  place  is  no  natural  cause  of  the  increase  of  piety,  for  it  inevit- 
ably produces  dissipation  of  mind.  Yet,  since  men  go  every 
day  to  view  the  fields  where  great  actions  have  been  performed, 
and  return  with  stronger  impressions  of  the  event,  curiosity  of 
the  same  kind  may  naturally  dispose  us  to  view  that  country 
whence  our  religion  had  its  beginning  :  and  I  believe  no  man 
surveys  those  awful  scenes  without  some  confirmation  of  holy 
resolutions.  That  the  Supreme  Being  may  be  more  easily  propiti- 
ated in  one  place  than  in  another  is  the  dream  of  idle  super- 
stition ;  but  that  some  places  may  operate  upon  our  minds  in 
an  uncommon  manner  is  an  opinion  which  hourly  experience 
will  justify.  He  who  supposes  that  his  vices  may  be  more 
successfully  combated  in  Palestine  will,  perhaps,  find  himself 
mistaken  ;  yet  he  may  go  thither  without  folly  :  he  who  thinks 
they  will  be  more  freely  pardoned  dishonors  at  once  his  reason 
and  religion." 

"These,"  said  the  prince,  " are  European  distinctions.  I 
will  consider  them  another  time.  What  have  you  found  to  be 
the  effect  of  knowledge  ?  Are  those  nations  happier  than  we  ?  " 


RASSELAS.  29 

"There  is  so  much  infelicity,"  said  the  poet,  "in  the  world, 
that  scarce  any  man  has  leisure  from  his  own  distresses  to  esti- 
mate the  comparative  happiness  of  others.  Knowledge,  is 
certainly  one  of  the  means  of  pleasure  as  is  confessed  by  the 
natural  desire  which  every  mind  feels  of  increasing  its  ideas. 
Ignorance  is  mere  privation,  by  which  nothing  can  be  pro- 
duced :  it  is  a  vacuity  in  which  the  soul  sits  motionless  and 
torpid  for  want  of  attraction ;  and,  without  knowing  why,  we 
always  rejoice  when  we  learn,  and  grieve  when  we  forget.  I 
am  therefore  inclined  to  conclude,  that  if  nothing  counteracts 
the  natural  consequence  of  learning,  we  grow  more  happy  as 
our  minds  take  a  wider  range. 

"  In  enumerating  the  particular  comforts  of  life,  we  shall 
find  many  advantages  on  the  side  of  the  Europeans.  They 
cure  wounds  and  diseases  with  which  we  languish  and  perish. 
We  suffer  inclemencies  of  weather  which  they  can  obviate. 
They  have  engines  for  the  despatch  of  many  laborious  works 
which  we  must  perform  by  manual  industry.  There  is  such 
communication  between  distant  places  that  one  friend  can 
hardly  be  said  to  be  absent  from  another.  Their  policy  removes 
all  public  inconveniences ;  they  have  roads  cut  through  their 
mountains,  and  bridges  laid  upon  their  rivers.  And,  if  we 
descend  to  the  privacies  of  life,  their  habitations  are  more  com- 
modious, and  their  possessions  are  more  secure." 

"  They  are  surely  happy,"  said  the  prince,  "  who  have  all 
these  conveniences,  of  which  I  envy  none  so  much  as  the 
facility  with  which  separated  friends  interchange  their  thoughts." 

"The  Europeans,"  answered  Imlac,  are  less  unhappy  than 
we,  but  they  are  not  happy.  Human  life  is  everywhere  a  state 
in  which  much  is  to  be  endured,  and  little  to  be  enjoyed." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

The  Story  of  Imlac  continued. 

"  I  AM  not  yet  willing,"  said  the  prince,'to  suppose  that  hap- 
piness is  so  parsimoniously  distributed  to  mortals  ;  nor  can  be- 
lieve but  that,  if  I  had  the  choice  of  life,  I  should  be  able  to 
fill  every  day  with  pleasure.  I  would  injure  no  man,  and  should 
provoke  no  resentment:  I  would  relieve  every  distress,  and 
should  enjoy  the  benedictions  of  gratitude.  I  would  choose 
my  friends  among  the  wise  and  my  wife  among  the  virtuous  ; 
and  therefore  should  be  in  no  danger  from  treachery  or  unkind- 


30  RASSELAS. 

ness.  My  children  should,  by  my  care,  be  learned  had  pious, 
and  would  repay  to  my  age  what  their  childhood  and  received. 
What  would  dare  to  molest  him  who  might  call  on  every  side 
to  thousands  enriched  by  his  bounty,  or  assisted  by  his  power  ? 
And  why  should  not  life  glide  quietly  away  in  the  soft  recipro- 
cation of  protection  and  reverence  ?  All  this  may  be  done 
without  the  help  of  European  refinements,  which  appear  by 
their  effects  to  be  rather  specious  than  useful.  Let  us  leave 
them,  and  pursue  our  journey." 

"  From  Palestine,"  said  Imlac,  "  I  passed  through  many  re- 
gions of  Asia,  in  the  more  civilized  kingdoms  as  a  trader,  and 
among  the  barbarians  of  the  mountains  as  a  pilgrim.  At  last 
I  began  to  long  for  my  native  country,  that  I  might  repose, 
after  my  travels  and  fatigues,  in  the  places  where  I  had  spent 
my  earliest  years,  and  gladden  my  old  companions  with  the  re- 
cital of  my  adventures.  Often  did  I  figure  to  myself  those 
with  whom  I  had  sported  away  the  gay  hours  of  dawning  life, 
sitting  round  me  in  its  evening,  wondering  at  my  tales,  and 
listening  to  my  counsels. 

"When  this  thought  had  taken  possession  of  my  mind,  I 
considered  every  moment  as  wasted  which  did  not  bring  me 
nearer  to  Abyssinia.  I  hastened  into  Egypt,  and  notwithstand- 
ing my  impatience,  was  detained  ten  months  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  its  ancient  magnificence,  and  in  inquiries  after  the 
remains  of  its  ancient  learning.  I  found  in  Cairo  a  mixture  of 
all  nations;  some  brought  thither  by  the  love  of  knowledge, 
some  by  the  hope  of  gain,  and  many  by  the  desire  of  living 
after  their  own  manner  without  observation,  and  of  lying  hid  in 
the  obscurity  of  multitudes  ;  for  in  a  city,  populous  as  Cairo,  it 
is  possible  to  obtain  at  the  same  time  the  gratifications  of 
society  and  the  secrecy  of  solitude. 

"  From  Cairo  I  travelled  to  Suez,  and  embarked  on  the 
Red  Sea,  passing  along  the  coast  till  I  arrived  at  the  port  from 
which  I  had  departed  twenty  years  before.  Here  I  joined 
myself  to  a  caravan,  and  re-entered  my  native  country. 

"  I  now  expected  the  caresses  of  my  kinsmen,  and  the  con- 
gratulations of  my  friends,  and  was  not  without  hope  that  my 
father,  whatever  value  he  had  set  upon  riches,  would  own  with 
gladness  and  pride  a  son  who  was  able  to  add  to  the  felicity  and 
honor  of  the  nation.  But  I  was  soon  convinced  that  my 
thoughts  were  vain.  My  father  had  been  dead  fourteen  years, 
having  divided  his  wealth  among  my  brothers,  who  were  re- 
moved to  some  other  provinces.  Of  my  companions  the  greater 
part  was  in  the  grave  ;  of  the  rest,  some  could  with  difficulty 


KASSELAS.  3! 

remember  me,  and  some  considered  me  as  one  corrupted  by 
foreign  manners. 

"  A  man  used  to  vicissitudes  is  not  easily  dejected.  I  for- 
got, after  a  time,  rny  disappointment,  and  endeavored  to  recom- 
mend myself  to  the  nobles  of  the  kingdom  ;  they  admitted  me 
to  their  tables,  heard  my  story,  and  dismissed  me.  I  opened  a 
school,  and  was  prohibited  to  teach.  I  then  resolved  to  sit 
down  in  the  quiet  of  domestic  like,  and  addressed  a  lady  that 
was  fond  of  my  conversation,  but  rejected  my  suit  because  my 
father  was  a  merchant. 

"  Wearied  at  last  with  solicitations  and  repulses,  I  resolved 
to  hide  myself  forever  from  the  world,  and  depend  no  longer 
on  the  opinion  or  caprice  of  others.  I  waited  for  the  time 
when  -the  gate  of  the  happy  valley  should  open,  that  I  might  bid 
farewell  to  hope  and  fear :  the  day  came  ;  my  performance  was 
distinguished  with  favor,  and  I  resigned  myself  with  joy  to  per- 
petual confinement." 

"  Hast  thou  here  found  happiness  at  last  ?  "  "  Tell  me 
without  reserve  ;  art  thou  content  with  thy  condition  ?  or,  dost 
thou  wish  to  be  again  wandering  and  inquiring?  All  the  in- 
habitants of  this  valley  celebrate  their  lot,  and  at  the  annual 
visit  of  the  emperor  invite  others  to  partake  of  their  felicity." 

"  Great  prince,"  said  Imlac,  "  I  shall  speak  the  truth  ;  I  know 
not  one  of  all  your  attendants  who  does  not  lament  the  hour 
when  he  entered  this  retreat.  I  am  less  unhappy  than  the 
rest,  because  I  have  a  mind  replete  with  images,  which  I  can 
vary  and  combine  at  pleasure.  I  can  amuse  my  solitude  by 
the  renovation  of  the  knowledge  which  begins  to  fade  from  my 
memory,  and  by  recollections  of  the  incidents  of  my  past  life. 
Yet  all  this  ends  in  the  sorrowful  consideration,  that  my  ac- 
quirements are  now  useless,  and  that  none  of  my  pleasures  can 
be  again  enjoyed.  The  rest,  whose  minds  have  no  impression 
but  that  of  the  present  moment,  are  either  corroded  by 
malignant  passions  or  sit  stupid  in  the  gloom  of  perpetual 
vacancy." 

"  What  passions  can  infest  those,"  said  the  prince,  "  who 
have  no  rivals  ?  We  are  in  a  place  where  impotence  precludes 
malice,  and  where  all  envy  is  repressed  by  community  of  enjoy- 
ments." 

"  There  may  be  community,"  said  Imlac,  "  of  material  pos- 
sessions, but  there  can  never  be  community  of  love  or  of 
esteem.  It  must  happen  that  one  will  please  more  than  another  : 
he  that  knows  himself  despised  will  always  be  envious ;  and 
still  more  envious  and  malevolent,  if  he  is  condemned  to  live 


3*  KASSELAS. 

in  the  presence  of  those  who  despise  him.  The  invitations  by 
which  they  allure  others  to  a  state  which  they  feel  to  be 
wretched,  proceed  from  the  natural  malignity  of  hopeless  mis- 
ery. They  are  weary  of  themselves  and  of  each  other,  and 
expect  to  find  relief  in  new  companions.  They  envy  the  liberty 
which  their  folly  has  forfeited,  and  would  gladly  see  all  man- 
kind imprisoned  like  themselves. 

"  From  this  crime,  however,  I  am  wholly  free.  No  man 
can  say  that  he  is  wretched  by  my  persuasion.  I  look  with 
pity  on  the  crowds  who  are  annually  soliciting  admission  into 
captivity,  and  wish  that  it  were  lawful  for  me  to  warn  them  of 
their  danger." 

"  My  dear  Imlac,"  said  the  prince,  "  I  will  open  to  thee  my 
whole  heart.  I  have  long  meditated  an  escape  from  the  happy 
•valley.  I  have  examined  the  mountains  on  every  side,  and  find 
myself  insuperably  barred :  teach  me  the  way  to  break  my 
prison  :  thou  shalt  be  the  companion  of  my  flight,  the  guide  of 
my  rambles,  the  partner  of  my  fortune,  and  my  sole  director  in 
the  choice  of  life" 

"Sir,"  answered  the  poet,  "your  escape  will  be  difficult; 
and,  perhaps,  you  may  soon  repent  your  curiosity.  The  world, 
which  you  figure  to  yourself  smooth  and  quiet  as  the  lake  in 
the  valley,  you  will  find  a  sea  foaming  with  tempests  and  boil- 
ing with  whirlpools :  you  will  be  sometimes  overwhelmed  with 
the  waves  of  violence,  and  sometimes  dashed  against  the  rocks 
of  treachery.  Amidst  wrongs  and  frauds,  competitions  and 
anxieties,  you  will  wish  a  thousand  times  for  these  seats  of 
quiet,  and  willingly  quit  hope  to  be  free  from  fear." 

"Do  not  seek  to  deter  me  from  my  purpose,"  said  the 
prince ;  "I  am  impatient  to  see  what  thou  hast  seen  ;  and 
since  thou  art  thyself  weary  of  the  valley,  it  is  evident  that  thy 
former  state  was  better  than  this.  Whatever  be  the  conse- 
quence of  my  experiment,  I  am  resolved  to  judge  with  mine 
own  eyes- of  the  various  conditions  of  men,  and  then  to  make 
deliberately  my  choice  of  life  " 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Imlac,  "  you  are  hindered  by  stronger 
restraints  than  my  persuasions  ;  yet;  if  your  determination  is 
fixed,  I  do  not  counsel  you  to  despair.  Few  things  are  impos- 
sible to  diligence  and  skill." 


JtASSELAS.  33 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

Rasselas  Discovers  the  Means  of  Escape, 

THE  prince  now  dismissed  his  favorite  to  rest,  but  the  narra- 
tive of  wonders  and  novelties  filled  his  mind  with  perturbation. 
He  revolved  all  that  he  had  heard,  and  prepared  innumerable 
questions  for  the  morning. 

Much  of  his  uneasiness  was  now  removed.  He  had  a  friend 
to  whom  he  could  impart  his  thoughts,  and  whose  experience 
could  assist  him  in  his  designs.  His  heart  was  no  longer  con- 
demned to  swell  in  silent  vexation.  He  thought  that  even  the 
happy  valley  might  be  endured  with  such  a  companion  ;  and 
that  if  they  could  range  the  world  together,  he  should  have 
nothing  further  to  desire. 

In  a  few  days  the  water  was  discharged,  and  the  ground 
dried.  The  prince  and  Imlac  then  walked  out  together  to 
converse  without  the  notice  of  the  rest.  The  prince,  whose 
thoughts  were  always  on  the  wing,  as  he  passed  by  the  gate, 
said,  with  a  countenance  of  sorrow,  "Why  art  thou  so  strong, 
and  why  is  man  so  weak  ?  " 

"  Man  is  not  weak,"  answered  his  companion  ;  "knowledge 
is  more  than  equivalent  to  force.  The  master  of  mechanics 
laughs  at  strength.  I  can  burst  the  gate,  but  cannot  do  it 
secretly.  Some  other  expedient  must  be  tried." 

As  they  were  walking  on  the  side  of  the  mountain,  they  ob- 
served that  the  conies,  which  the  rain  had  driven  from  their 
burrows,  had  taken  shelter  among  the  bushes,  and  formed 
holes  behind  them,  tending  upwards  in  an  oblique  line.  "  It 
has  been  the  opinion  of  antiquity,"  said  Imlac,  '•  that  human 
reason  borrowed  many  arts  from  the  instinct  of  animals  ;  let  us, 
therefore,  not  think  ourselves  degraded  by  learning  from  the 
cony.  We  may  escape  by  piercing  the  mountain  in  the  same 
direction.  We  will  begin  where  the  summit  hangs  over  the 
middle  part,  and  labor  upward  till  we  shall  issue  up  beyond  the 
prominence." 

The  eyes  of  the  prince,  when  he  heard  this  proposal, 
sparkled  with  joy.  The  execution  was  easy,  and  the  success 
certain. 

No  time  was  now  lost.  They  hastened,  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, to  choose  a  place  proper  for  their  mind.  They  clambered 


34 


XASSELAS. 


with  great  fatigue  among  crags  and  brambles,  and  returned 
without  having  discovered  any  part  that  favored  their  design. 
The  second  and  third  day  were  spent  in  the  same  manner,  and 
with  the  same  frustration.  But,  on  the  fourth,  they  found  a 
small  cavern,  concealed  by  a  thicket,  where  they  resolved  to 
make  their  experiment. 

Imlac  procured  instruments  proper  to  hew  stone  and  re- 
move earth,  and  they  fell  to  their  work  the  next  day  with  more 
eagerness  than  vigor.  They  were  presently  exhausted  by  their 
efforts,  and  sat  down  to  pant  upon  the  grass.  The  prince,  for 
a  moment,  appeared  to  be  discouraged.  "  Sir,"  said  his  com- 
panion, "  practice  will  enable  us  to  continue  our  labor  for  a 
longer  time;  mark,  however,  how  far  we  have  advanced,  and 
you  will  find  that  our  toil  will  some  time  have  an  end.  Great 
works  are  performed,  not  by  strength,  but  by  perseverance; 
yonder  palace  was  rais6d  by  single  stones,  yet  you  see  its 
height  and  spaciousness.  He  that  shall  walk  with  vigor  three 
hours  a  day,  will  pass  in  seven  years  a  space  equal  to  the  cir- 
cumference of  the  globe." 

They  returned  to  their  work  day  after  day;  and,  in  a  short 
time,  found  a  fissure  in  the  rock,  which  enabled  them  to  pass 
far  with  very  little  obstruction.  This  Rasselas  considered  as  a 
good  omen.  "  Do  not  disturb  your  mind,"  said  Imlac,  "  with 
other  hopes  and  fears  than  reason  may  suggest :  if  you  are 
pleased  with  prognostics  of  good,  you  will  be  terrified  likewise 
with  tokens  of  evil,  and  your  whole  life  will  be  a  prey  to  super- 
stition. Whatever  facilitates  our  work  is  more  than  an  omen, 
it  is  a  cause  of  success.  This  is  one  of  those  pleasing  surprises 
which  often  happen  to  active  resolution.  Many  things  difficult 
to  design  prove  easy  to  performance." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Rasselas  and  Imlac  Receive  an  Unexpected  Visit. 

THEY  had  now  wrought  their  way  to  the  middle,  and  so- 
laced their  thoughts  with  the  approach  of  liberty,  when  the 
prince  coming  down  to  refresh  himself  with  air,  found  his  sister 
Nekayah  standing  before  the  mouth  of  the  cavity.  He  started 
and  stood  confused,  afraid  to  tell  his  design,  and  yet  hopeless 
to  conceal  it.  A  few  moments  determined  him  to  repose  on 
her  fidelity,  and  secure  her  secrecy  by  a  declaration  without 
reserve. 


RASSELAS,  25 

"  Do  not  imagine,"  said  the  princess,  "  that  I  came  hither 
as  a  spy:  I  had  long  observed  from  my  window,  that  you 
and  Imlac  directed  your  walk  every  day  towards  the  same 
point,  but  I  did  not  suppose  you  had  any  better  reason  for  the 
preference  than  a  cooler  shade,  or  more  fragrant  bank ;  nor 
followed  you  with  any  other  design  than  to  partake  of  your 
conversation.  Since,  then,  not  suspicion  but  fondness  has  de- 
tected you,  let  me  not  lose  the  advantage  of  my  discovery.  I 
am  equally  weary  of  confinement  with  yourself,  and  not  less 
desirous  of  knowing  what  is  done  or  suffered  in  the  world. 
Permit  me  to  fly  with  you  from  this  tasteless  tranquillity,  which 
will  yet  grow  more  loathsome  when  you  have  left  me.  You 
may  deny  me  to  accompany  you,  but  cannot  hinder  me  from 
following." 

The  prince,  who  loved  Nekayah  above  his  other  sisters, 
had  no  inclination  to  refuse  her  request,  and  grieved  that  he 
had  lost  an  opportunity  of  showing  his  confidence  by  a  volun- 
tary communication.  It  was  therefore  agreed  that  she  should 
leave  the  valley  with  them  :  and  that,  in  the  mean  time,  she 
should  watch  lest  any  other  straggler  should,  by  chance  or  curi- 
osity, follow  them  to  the  mountain. 

At  length  their  labor  was  at  an  end  :  they  saw  light  beyond 
the  prominence,  and,  issuing  to  the  top  of  the  mountain,  beheld 
the  Nile,  yet  a  narrow  current,  wandering  beneath  them. 

The  prince  looked  round  with  rapture,  anticipated  all  the 
pleasure  of  travel,  and  in  thought  was  already  transported  be- 
yond his  father's  dominions.  Imlac,  though  very  joyful  at  his 
escape,  had  less  expectation  of  pleasure  in  the  world,  which  he 
had  before  tried,  and  of  which  he  had  been  weary. 

Rasselas  was  so  much  delighted  with  a  wider  horizon  that 
he  could  not  soon  be  persuaded  to  return  into  the  valley.  He 
informed  his  sister  that  the  way  was  open,  and  that  nothing  now 
remained  but  to  prepare  for  their  departure. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

The  Prince  and  Princess  leave  the  Valley,  and  see  many  Wonders. 

THE  prince  and  princess  had  jewels  sufficient  to  make  them 
rich  whenever  they  came  into  a  place  of  commerce,  which,  by 
Imlac's  direction,  they  might  hide  in  their  clothes  ;  and,  on 
the  night  of  the  next  full  moon,  all  left  the  valley.  The  prin- 


36  RASSELAS. 

cess  was  followed  only  by  a  single  favorite,  who  did  not  know 
whither  she  was  going. 

They  clambered  through  the  cavity,  and  began  to  go  down 
on  the  other  side.  The  princess  and  her  maid  turned  their  eyes 
towards  every  part,  and,  seeing  nothing  to  bound  their  prospect, 
considered  themselves  as  in  danger  of  being  lost  in  a  dreary 
vacuity.  They  stopped  and  trembled.  "  I  am  almost  afraid," 
said  the  princess,  "  to  begin  a  journey  of  which  I  cannot  per- 
ceive an  end,  and  to  venture  into  this  immense  plain,  where  I 
may  be  approached  on  every  side  by  men  whom  I  never  saw." 
The  prince  felt  nearly  the  same  emotions,  though  he  thought  it 
more  manly  to  conceal  them. 

Imlac  smiled  at  their  terrors,  and  encouraged  them  to  pro- 
ceed :  but  the  princess  continued  irresolute  till  she  had  been 
imperceptibly  drawn  forward  too  far  to  return. 

In  the  morning  they  found  some  shepherds  in  the  field,  who 
set  milk  and  fruits  before  them.  The  princess  wondered  that 
she  did  not  see  a  palace  ready  for  her  reception,  and  a  table 
spread  with  delicacies  \  but,  being  faint  and  hungry,  she  drank 
the  milk  and  ate  the  fruits,  and  thought  them  of  a  higher  fla- 
vor than  the  products  of  the  valley. 

They  travelled  forward  by  easy  journeys,  being  all  unaccus- 
tomed to  toil  or  difficulty,  and  knowing  that,  though  they  might 
be  missed,  they  could  not  be  pursued.  In  a  few  days  they 
came  into  a  more  populous  region,  where  Imlac  was  diverted 
with  the  admiration  which  his  companions  expressed  at  the  di- 
versity of  manners,  stations,  and  employments. 

Their  dress  was  such  as  might  not  bring  upon  them  the  sus- 
picion of  having  anything  to  conceal  ;  yet  the  prince,  wherever 
he  came,  expected  to  be  obeyed,  and  the  princess  was  frighted 
because  those  that  came  into  her  presence  did  not  prostrate 
themselves  before  her.  Imlac  was  forced  to  observe  them  with 
great  vigilance,  lest  they  should  betray  their  rank  by  their  un- 
usual behavior,  and  detained  them  several  weeks  in  the  first 
village,  to  accustom  them  to  the  sight  of  common  mortals. 

By  degrees  the  royal  wanderers  were  taught  to  understand 
that  they  had  for  a  time  laid  aside  their  dignity,  and  were  to 
expect  only  such  regard  as  liberality  and  courtesy  could  pro- 
cure. And  Imlac,  having,  by  many  admonitions,  prepared 
them  to  epdure  the  tumults  of  a  port,  and  the  ruggedness  of  the 
commercial  race,  brought  them  down  to  the  sea-coast. 

The  prince  and  his  sister,  to  whom  everything  was  new, 
were  gratified  equally  at  all  places,  and  therefore  remained  for 
some  months  at  the  port  without  any  inclination  to  pass  further, 


KASSELAS. 


37 


Imlac  was  content  with  their  stay,  because  he  did  not  think  it 
safe  to  expose  them,  unpracticed  in  the  world,  to  the  hazards 
of  a  foreign  country. 

At  last  he  began  to  fear  lest  they  should  be  discovered,  and 
proposed  to  fix  a  day  for  their  departure.  They  had  no  preten- 
sions to  judge  for  themselves,  and  referred  the  whole  scheme 
to  his  direction.  He  therefore  took  passage  in  a  ship  to  Suez  ; 
and,  when  the  time  came,  with  great  difficulty  prevailed  on  the 
princess  to  enter  the  vessel.  They  had  a  quick  and  prosperous 
voyage  ;  and  from  Suez  travelled  by  land  to  Cairo. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

They  enter  Cairo,  and  find  every  man  happy: 

As  they  approached  the  city,  which  filled  the  strangers  with 
astonishment,  "  This,"  said  Imlac  to  the  prince,  "  is  the  place 
where  travellers  and  merchants  assemble  from  all  the  corners 
of  the  earth.  You  will  here  find  men  of  every  character,  and 
every  occupation.  Commerce  is  here  honorable  :  I  will  act  as 
a  merchant  who  has  no  other  end  of  travel  than  curiosity  ;  it 
will  soon  be  observed  that  we  are  rich  ;  our  reputation  will 
procure  us  access  to  all  whom  we  shall  desire  to  know  ;  you 
will  see  all  the  conditions  of  humanity,  and  enable  yourself  at 
leisure  to  make  your  choice  of  life." 

They  now  entered  the  town,  stunned  by  the  noise  and 
offended  by  the  crowds.  Instruction  had  not  yet  so  prevailed 
over  habit,  but  that  they  wondered  to  see  themselves  pass  un- 
distinguished along  the  street,  and  met  by  the  lowest  of  the 
people  without  reverence  or  notice.  The  princess  could  not  at 
first  bear  the  thought  of  being  levelled  with  the  vulgar,  and  for 
some  days  continued  in  her  chamber,  where  she  was  served  by 
her  favorite  Pekuah  as  in  the  palace  of  the  valley. 

Imlac,  who  understood  traffic,  sold  part  of  the  jewels  the 
next  day,  and  hired  a  house,  which  he  adorned  with  such  mag- 
nificence, that  he  was  immediately  considered  as  a  merchant  of 
great  wealth.  His  politeness  attracted  many  acquaintance,  and 
his  generosity  made  him  courted  by  many  dependants.  His 
table  was  crowded  by  men  of  every  nation,  who  all  admired  his 
knowledge,  and  solicited  his  favor.  His  companions,  not  being 
able  to  mix  in  the  conversation,  could  make  no  discovery  of 
their  ignorance  or  surprise,  and  were  gradually  initiated  in  the; 
world  as  they  gained  knowledge  of  the  language. 


38  RASSELAS. 

The  prince  had,  by  frequent  lectures,  been  taught  the  use 
and  nature  of  money ;  but  the  ladies  could  not  for  a  long 
time  comprehend  what  the  merchants  did  with  small  pieces  of 
gold  and  silver,  or  why  things  of  so  little  use  should  be  re- 
ceived as  equivalent  to  the  necessaries  of  life. 

They  studied  the  language  two  years,  while  Imlac  was  pre- 
paring to  set  before  them  the  various  ranks  and  conditions  of 
mankind.  He  grew  acquainted  with  all  who  had  anything 
uncommon  in  their  fortune  or  conduct.  He  frequented  the 
voluptuous  and  the  frugal,  the  idle  and  the  busy,  the  mer- 
chants and  the  men  of  learning. 

The  prince  being  now  able  to  converse  with  fluency,  and 
having  learned  the  caution  necessary  to  be  observed  in  his  in- 
tercourse with  strangers,  began  to  accompany  Imlac  to  places 
of  resort,  and  to  enter  into  all  assemblies,  that  he  might  make 
his  choice  of  life. 

For  some  time  he  thought  choice  needless,  because  all  ap- 
peared to  him  equally  happy.  Wherever  he  went  he  met 
gayety  and  kindness,  and  heard  the  song  of  joy  or  the  laughter 
of  carelessness.  He  began  to  believe  that  the  world  over- 
flowed with  universal  plenty,  and  that  nothing  was  withheld 
either  from  want  or  merit ;  that  every  hand  showered  liberality, 
and  every  heart  melted  with  benevolence;  "and  u ho  then," 
says  he,  "  will  be  suffered  to  be  wretched  ? " 

Imlac  permitted  the  pleasing  delusion,  and  was  unwilling 
to  crush  the  hope  of  inexperience,  till  one  day,  having  sat 
awhile  silent,  "  I  know  not,"  said  the  prince,  "  what  can  be 
the  reason  that  I  am  more  unhappy  than  any  of  our  friends. 
I  see  them  perpetually  and  unalterably  cheerful,  but  feel  my 
own  mind  restless  and  uneasy.  I  am  unsatisfied  with  those 
pleasures  which  I  seem  most  to  court.  I  live  in  the  crowds  of 
jollity,  not  so  much  to  enjoy  company  as  to  shun  myself,  and 
am  only  loud  and  merry  to  conceal  my  sadness." 

"  Every  man,"  said  Imlac,  "  may  by  examining  his  own 
mind  guess  what  passes  in  the  minds  of  others  :  when  you 
feel  that  your  own  gayety  is  counterfeit,  it  may  justly  lead  you 
to  suspect  that  of  your  companions  not  to  be  sincere.  Envy 
is  commonly  reciprocal.  We  are  long  before  we  are  convinced 
that  happiness  is  never  to  be  found,  and  each  believes  it  pos- 
sessed by  others  to  keep  alive  the  hope  of  obtaining  it  for 
himself.  In  the  assembly  where  you  passed  the  last  night, 
there  appeared  such  sprightliness  of  air  and  volatility  of  fancy 
as  might  have  suited  beings  of  a  higher  order,  formed  to  in- 
habit serener  regions  inaccessible  to  care  or  sorrow ;  yet  be- 


RASSELAS. 


39 


Heve  me,  prince,  there  was  not  one  who  did  not  dread  the 
moment  when  solitude  should  deliver  him  to  the  tyranny  of 
reflection." 

"  This,"  said  the  prince,  "  may  be  true  of  others,  since  it  is 
true  of  me  ;  yet  whatever  be  the  general  infelicity  of  man,  one 
condition  is  more  happy  than  another,  and  wisdom  surely 
directs  us  to  take  the  least  evil  in  the  choice  of  life." 

"  The  causes  of  good  and  evil,"  answered  Imlac,  "  are  so 
various  and  uncertain,  so  often  entangled  with  each  other,  so 
diversified  by  various  relations,  and  so  much  subject  to  acci- 
dents which  cannot  be  foreseen,  that  he  who  would  fix  his  con- 
dition upon  incontestible  reasons  of  preference  must  live  and 
die  inquiring  and  deliberating." 

"But,  surely,"  said  Rasselas,  "the  wise  men,  to  whom  we 
listen  with  reverence  and  wonder,  chose  that  mode  of  life  for 
themselves  which  they  thought  most  likely  to  make  them 
happy." 

"  Very  few,"  said  the  poet,  "  live  by  choice.  Every  man  is 
placed  in  his  present  condition  by  causes  which  acted  without 
his  foresight,  and  with  which  he  did  not  always  willingly  co- 
operate ;  and  therefore  you  will  rarely  meet  one  who  does  not 
think  the  lot  of  his  neighbor  better  than  his  own." 

"  I  am  pleased  to  think,"  said  the  prince,  "  that  my  birth 
has  given  me  at  least  one  advantage  over  others,  by  enabling 
me  to  determine  for  myself.  I  have  here  the  world  before  me; 
I  will  review  it  at  leisure  ;  surely  happiness  is  somewhere  to  be 
found." 

CHAPTER  XVIL 

The  Prince  associates  with  Young  Men  of  Spirit  and  Gayety. 

RASSELAS  rose  next  day,  and  resolved  to  begin  his  experi- 
ments upon  life.  "Youth,"  cried  he,  "is  the  time  of  glad- 
ness :  I  will  join  myself  to  the  young  men,  whose  only  busi- 
ness is  to  gratify  their  desires,  and  whose  time  is  all  spent  in 
a  succession  of  enjoyments." 

To  such  societies  he  was  readily  admitted  ;  but  a  few  days 
brought  him  back  weary  and  disgusted.  Their  mirth  was 
without  images  ;  their  laughter  without  motive  ;  their  pleasures 
were  gross  and  sensual,  in  which  the  mind  had  no  part ;  their 
conduct  was  at  once  wild  and  mean  ;  they  laughed  at  order 
and  law  :  but  the  frown  of  power  dejected,  and  the  eye  of  wis- 
dom abashed  them. 

13 


40  KASSELAS. 

The  prince  soon  concluded  that  he  should  never  be  happy 
in  a  course  of  life  of  which  he  was  ashamed.  He  thought  it 
unsuitable  to  a  reasonable  being  to  act  without  a  plan,  and  to 
be  sad  or  cheerful  only  by  chance.  "  Happiness,"  said  he, 
"  must  be  something  solid  and  permanent,  without  fear  and 
without  uncertainty." 

But  his  young  companions  had  gained  so  much  of  his  re- 
gard by  their  frankness  and  courtesy  that  he  could  not  leave 
them  without  warning  and  remonstrance.  "  My  friends,"  said 
he,  "  I  have  seriously  considered  our  manners  and  our  pros- 
pects, and  find  that  we  have  mistaken  our  own  interest.  The 
first  years  of  man  must  make  provision  for  the  last.  He  that 
never  thinks  never  can  be  wise.  Perpetual  levity  must  end  in 
ignorance  ;  and  intemperance,  though  it  may  fire  the  spirits  for 
an  hour,  will  make  life  short  or  miserable.  Let  us  consider 
that  youth  is  of  no  long  duration,  and  that  in  maturer  age, 
when  the  enchantments  of  fancy  shall  cease,  and  phantoms  of 
delight  dance  no  more  about  us,  we  shall  have  no  comforts  but 
the  esteem  of  wise  men,  and  the  means  of  doing  good.  Let 
us,  therefore,  stop  while  to  stop  is  in  our  power  :  let  us  live  as 
men  who  are  sometimes  to  grow  old,  and  to  whom  it  will  be 
the  most  dreadful  of  all  evils  not  to  count  their  past  years  by 
follies,  and  to  be  reminded  of  their  former  luxuriance  of  health 
only  by  the  maladies  which  riot  has  produced." 

They  stared  awhile  in  silence  one  upon  another,  and  at 
last  drove  him  away  by  a  general  chorus  of  continued  laughter. 

The  consciousness  that  his  sentiments  were  just,  and  his 
intentions  kind,  was  scarcely  sufficient  to  support  him  against 
the  horror  of  derision.  But  he  recovered  his  tranquillity,  and 
pursued  his  search. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

The  Prince  finds  a  Wise  and  Happy  Man. 

As  he  was  one  day  walking  in  the  street,  he  saw  a  spacious 
building,  which  all  were,  by  the  open  doors,  invited  to  enter ; 
he  followed  the  stream  of  people  and  found  it  a  hall  or  school 
of  declamation,  in  which  professors  read  lectures  to  their  audi- 
tory. He  fixed  his  eye  upon  a  sage  raised  above  the  rest,  who 
discoursed  with  great  energy  on  the  government  of  the  pas- 
sions. His  look  was  venerable,  his  action  graceful,  his  pro- 
nunciation clear,  and  his  diction  elegant.  He  showed,  with 


RASSELAS.  4I 

great  strength  of  sentiment  and  variety  of  illustration,  that 
human  nature  is  degraded  and  debased  when  the  lower  facul- 
ties predominate  over  the  higher ;  that  when  fancy,  the  parent 
of  passion,  usurps  the  dominion  of  the  mind,  nothing  ensues 
but  the  natural  effect  of  unlawful  government,  perturbation, 
and  confusion  ;  that  she  betrays  the  fortresses  of  the  intellect 
to  rebels,  and  excites  her  children  to  sedition  against  reason, 
their  lawful  sovereign.  He  compared  reason  to  the  sun,  of 
which  the  light  is  constant,  uniform,  and  lasting  ;  and  fancy  to 
a  meteor,  of  bright  but  transitory  lustre,  irregular  in  its  motion, 
and  delusive  in  its  direction. 

He  then  communicated  the  various  precepts  given  from 
time  to  time  for  the  conquest  of  passion,  and  displayed  the 
happiness  of  those  who  had  obtained  the  important  victor}', 
after  which  man  is  no  longer  the  slave  of  fear,  nor  the  fool  of 
hope  ;  is  no  more  emaciated  by  envy,  inflamed  by  anger, 
emasculated  by  tenderness,  or  depressed  by  grief ;  but  walks 
on  calmly  through  the  tumults  or  privacies  of  life,  as  the  sun 
pursues  alike  his  course  through  the  calm  or  the  stormy  sky. 

He  enumerated  many  examples  of  heroes  immovable  by 
pain  or  pleasure,  who  looked  with  indifference  on  those  modes 
or  accidents  to  which  the  vulgar  give  the  names  of  good  and 
evil.  He  exhorted  his  hearers  to  lay  aside  their  prejudices, 
and  arm  themselves  against  the  shafts  of  malice  or  misfortune, 
by.  invulnerable  patience  ;  concluding,  that  this  state  only  was 
happiness,  and  that  this  happiness  was  in  everyone's  power. 

Rasselas  listened  to  him  with  the  veneration  due  to  the  in- 
structions of  a  superior  being;  and,  waiting  for  him  at  the 
door,  humbly  implored  the  liberty  of  visiting  so  great  a  master 
of  true  wisdom.  The  lecturer  hesitated  a  moment,  when  Ras- 
selas put  a  purse  of  gold  into  his  hand,  which  he  received  with 
a  mixture  of  joy  and  wonder. 

"  I  have  found,"  said  the  prince,  at  his  return  to  Imlac,  "  a 
man  who  can  teach  all  that  is  necessary  to  be  known,  who, 
from  the  unshaken  throne  of  rational  fortitude,  looks  down  on 
the  scenes  of  life  changing  beneath  him.  He  speaks,  and  at- 
tention watches  his  lips.  He  reasons,  and  conviction  closes 
his  periods.  This  man  shall  be  my  future  guide  :  I  will  learn 
his  doctrines  and  imitate  his  life." 

"  Be  not  too  hasty,"  said  Imlac,  "  to  trust,  or  to  admire, 
the  teachers  of  morality ;  they  discourse  like  angels,  but  they 
live  like  men." 

Rasselas,  who  could  not  conceive  how  any  man  could  reason 
§0  forcibly  without  feeling  the  cogency  of  his  own  arguments, 


42  RASSELAS. 

paid  his  visit  in  a  few  days,  and  was  denied  admission.  He 
had  now  learned  the  power  of  money,  and  made  his  way  by  a 
piece  of  gold  to  the  inner  apartment,  where  he  found  the  phi- 
losopher in  a  room  half  darkened,  with  his  eyes  misty,  and  his 
face  pale.-  "  Sir,"  said  he,  "  you  are  come  at  a  time  when  all 
human  friendship  is  useless ;  what  I  suffer  cannot  be  remedied, 
what  I  have  lost  cannot  be  supplied.  My  daughter,  my  only 
daughter,  from  whose  tenderness  f  expected  all  the  comforts 
of  my  age,  died  last  night  of  a  fever.  My  views,  my  purposes, 
my  hopes  are  at  an  end :  I  am  now  a  lonely  being  disunited 
from  society." 

"  Sir,"  said  the  prince,  "  mortality  is  an  event  by  which  a 
wise  man  can  never  be  surprised  :  we  know  that  death  is 
always  near,  and  it  should  therefore  always  be  expected." 
"  Young  man,"  answered  the  philosopher,  "  you  speak  like  one 
that  has  never  felt  the  pangs  of  separation."  "  Have  you  then 
forgot  the  precepts,"  said  Rasselas,  "  which  you  so  powerfully 
enforced  ?  Has  wisdom  no  strength  to  arm  the  heart  against 
calamity?  Consider  that  external  things  are  naturally  vari- 
able, but  truth  and  reason  are  always  the  same."  "  What  com- 
fort," said  the  mourner,  "  can  truth  and  reason  afford  me  ?  of 
what  effect  are  they  now,  but  to  tell  me,  that  my  daughter  will 
not  be  restored  ?  " 

The  prince,  whose  humanity  would  not  suffer  him  to  insult 
misery  with  reproof,  went  away  convinced  of  the  emptiness  of 
rhetorical  sound,  and  the  inefficacy  of  polished  periods  and 
studied  sentences. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A  Glimpse  of  Pastoral  Life. 

HE  was  still  eager  upon  the  same  inquiry ;  and  having 
heard  of  a  hermit  that  lived  near  the  lowest  cataract  of  the 
Nile,  and  filled  the  whole  country  with  the  fame  of  his  sanctity, 
resolved  to  visit  his  retreat,  and  inquire  whether  that  felicity, 
which  public  life  could  not  afford,  was  to  be  found  in  solitude  \ 
and  whether  a  man  whose  age  and  virtue  made  him  venerable, 
could  teach  any  peculiar  art  of  shunning  evils  or  enduring 
them? 

Imlac  and  the  princess  agreed  to  accompany  him  ;  and, 
after  the  necessary  preparations,  they  began  their  journey. 
Their  way  lay  through  the  fields,  where  shepherds  tended  their 


RASSELAS. 


43 


flocks,  and  the  lambs  were  playing  upon  the  pasture.  "  This," 
said  the  poet,  "  is  the  life  which  has  been  often  celebrated  for 
its  innocence  and  quiet ;  let  us  pass  the  heat  of  the  day  among 
the  shepherds'  tents,  and  know  whether  all  our  searches  are 
not  to  terminate  in  pastoral  simplicity.'' 

The  proposal  pleased  them,  and  they  induced  the  shep- 
herds, by  small  presents,  and  familiar  questions,  to  tell  their 
opinion  of  their  own  state  ;  they  were  so  rude  and  ignorant,  so 
little  able  to  compare  the  good  with  the  evil  of  the  occupation, 
and  so  indistinct  in  their  narratives  and  descriptions,  that  very 
little  could  be  learned  from  them.  But  it  was  evident  that 
their  hearts  were  cankered  with  discontent ;  that  they  con- 
sidered themselves  as  condemned  to  labor  for  the  luxury  of 
the  rich,  and  looked  up  with  stupid  malevolence  toward  those 
that  were  placed  above  them. 

The  princess  pronounced  with  vehemence,  that  she  would 
never  suffer  these  envious  savages  to  be  her  companions,  and 
that  she  should  not  soon  be  desirous  of  seeing  any  more  speci- 
mens of  rustic  happiness ;  but  could  not  believe  that  all  the 
accounts  of  primeval  pleasures  were  fabulous ;  and  was  yet  in 
doubt,  whether  life  had  anything  that  cotild  be  justly  preferred 
to  the  placid  gratifications  of  fields  and  woods.  She  hoped 
that  the  time  would  come,  when,  with  a  few  virtuous  and  ele- 
gant companions,  she  should  gather  flowers  planted  by  her  own 
hand,  fondle  the  lambs  of  her  own  ewe,  and  listen,  without  care, 
among  brooks  and  breezes,  to  one  of  her  maidens  reading  in 
the  shade. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

The  Danger  of  Prosperity. 

ON  the  next  day  they  continued  their  journey,  till  the  heat 
compelled  them  to  look  round  for  shelter.  At  a  small  distance 
they  saw  a  thick  wood,  which  they  no  sooner  entered  than  they 
perceived  that  they  were  approaching  the  habitations  of  men. 
The  shrubs  were  diligently  cut  away  to  open  walks  where  the 
shades  were  darkest :  the  boughs  of  opposite  trees  were  artificially 
interwoven  ;  seats  of  flowery  turf  were  raised  in  vacant  spaces  : 
and  a  rivulet  that  wantoned  along  the  side  of  a  winding  path, 
had  its  banks  sometimes  opened  into  small  basins,  and  its 
stream  sometimes  obstructed  by  little  mounds  of  stone  heaped 
together  to  increase  its  murmurs, 


44  KASSELAS. 

They  passed  slowly  through  the  wood,  delighted  with  such 
unexpected  accommodations,  and  entertained  each  other  with 
conjecturing  what,  or  who  he  could  be,  that,  in  those  rude  and 
unfrequented  regions,  had  leisure  and  art  for  such  harmless 
luxury. 

As  they  advanced,  they  heard  the  sound  of  music,  and  saw 
youths  and  virgins  dancing  in  the  grove  ;  and,  going  still  fur- 
ther, beheld  a  stately  palace  built  upon  a  hill  surrounded  with 
woods.  The  laws  of  eastern  hospitality  allowed  them  to  enter, 
and  the  master  welcomed  them  like  a  man  liberal  and  wealthy. 

He  was  skilful  enough  in  appearances  soon  to  discern  that 
they  were  no  common  guests,  and  spread  his  table  with  magni- 
ficence. The  eloquence  of  Imlac  caught  his  attention,  and  the 
lofty  courtesy  of  the  princess  excited  his  respect.  When  they 
offered  to  depart  he  entreated  their  stay,  and  was  the  next  day 
still  more  unwilling  to  dismiss  them  than  before.  They  were 
easily  persuaded  to  stop,  and  civility  grew  up  in  time  to  freedom 
and  confidence. 

The  prince  now  saw  all  the  domestics  cheerful,  and  all  the 
face  of  nature  smiling  round  the  place,  and  could  not  forbear 
to  hope  he  should  find  here  what  he  was  seeking ;  but  when  he 
was  congratulating  the  master  upon  his  possessions,  he  an- 
swered with  a  sigh,  "  My  condition  has  indeed  the  appearance 
of  happiness,  but  appearances  are  delusive.  My  prosperity 
puts  my  life  in  danger  •  the  Bassa  of  Egypt  is  my  enemy,  in- 
censed only  by  my  wealth  and  popularity.  I  have  hitherto 
been  protected  against  him  by  the  princes  of  the  country  ;  but 
as  the  favor  of  the  great  is  uncertain,  I  know  not  how  soon  my 
defenders  may  be  persuaded  to  share  the  plunder  with  the 
Bassa.  I  have  sent  my  treasures  into  a  distant  country,  and, 
upon  the  first  alarm,  am  prepared  to  follow  them.  Then  will 
my  enemies  riot  in  my  mansion,  and  enjoy  the  gardens  which  I 
have  planted." 

They  all  joined  in  lamenting  his  danger,  and  deprecating 
his  exile ;  and  the  princess  was  so  much  disturbed  with  the 
tumult  of  grief  and  indignation  that  she  retired  to  her  apart- 
ment. 

They  continued  with  their  kind  inviter  a  few  days  longer, 
and  then  went  forward  to  find  the  hermit. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

The  Happiness  of  Solitude.     The  Hermit's  History. 

THEY  came  on  the  third  day,  by  the  direction  of  the  peas- 
ants, to  the  hermit's  cell :  it  was  a  cavern  in  the  side  of  a  moun- 
tain, overshadowed  with  palm  trees  ;  at  such  a  distance  from 
the  cataract  that  nothing  more  was  heard  than  a  gentle  uniform 
murmur,  such  as  composed  the  mind  to  pensive  meditation, 
especially  when  it  was  assisted  by  the  wind  whistling  among 
the  branches.  The  first  rude  essay  of  nature  had  been  so  much 
improved  by  human  labor  that  the  cave  contained  several 
apartments  appropriated  to  different  uses,  and  often  afforded 
lodging  to  travellers,  whom  darkness  or  tempests  happened  to 
overtake. 

The  hermit  sat  on  a  bench  at  the  door  to  enjoy  the  coolness 
of  the  evening.  On  one  side  lay  a  book  with  pens  and  papers, 
on  the  other,  mechanical  instruments  of  various  kinds.  As 
they  approached  him  unregarded,  the  princess  observed  that  he 
had  not  the  countenance  of  a  man  that  had  found,  or  could 
teach  the  way  to  happiness. 

They  saluted  him  with  great  respect,  which  he  repaid  like  a 
man  not  unaccustomed  to  the  forms  of  courts.  "  My  children," 
said  he,  "  if  you  have  lost  your  way,  you  shall  be  willingly  sup- 
plied with  such  conveniencies  for  the  night  as  this  cavern  will 
afford.  I  have  all  that  nature  requires,  and  you  will  not  ex- 
pect delicacies  in  a  hermit's  cell." 

They  thanked  him ;  and,  entering,  were  pleased  with  the 
neatness  and  regularity  of  the  place.  The  hermit  set  flesh  and 
wine  before  them,  though  he  fed  only  upon  fruits  and  water. 
His  discourse  was  cheerful  without  levity,  and  pious  without 
enthusiasm.  He  soon  gained  the  esteem  of  his  guests,  and  the 
princess  repented  of  her  hasty  censure. 

At  last  Imlac  began  thus  :  "  I  do  not  now  wonder  that  your 
reputation  is  so  far  extended  :  we  have  heard  at  Cairo  of  your 
wisdom,  and  came  hither  to  implore  your  direction  for  this 
young  man  and  maiden  in  the  choice  of  life." 

"  To  him  that  lives  well,"  answered  the  hermit, "  every  form 
of  life  is  good  ;  nor  can  I  give  any  other  rule  for  choice  than 
to  remove  from  all  apparent  evil." 

"  He  will  remove  most  certainly  from  evil,"  said  the  prince, 


46  RASSELAS. 

"  who  shall  devote  himself  to  that  solitude  which  you  have  re- 
commended by  your  example." 

"  I  have  indeed  lived  fifteen  years  in  solitude,"  said  the 
hermit,  "  but  have  no  desire  that  my  example  should  gain  any 
imitators.  In  my  youth  I  professed  arms,  and  was  raised  by 
degrees  to  the  highest  military  rank.  I  have  traversed  wide 
countries  at  the  head  of  my  troops,  and  seen  many  battles  and 
sieges.  At  last,  being  disgusted  by  the  preferments  of  a 
younger  officer,  and  feeling  that  my  vigor  was  beginning  to  de- 
cay, I  resolved  to  close  my  life  in  peace,  having  found  the 
world  full  of  snares,  discord,  and  misery.  I  had  once  escaped 
from  the  pursuit  of  the  enemy  by  the  shelter  of  this  cavern,  and 
therefore  chose  it  for  my  final  residence.  I  employed  artificers 
to  form  it  into  chambers,  and  stored  it  with  all  that  I  was  likely 
to  want. 

"  For  some  time  after  my  retreat,  I  rejoiced  like  a  tempest 
beaten  sailor  at  his  entrance  into  the  harbor,  being  delighted 
with  the  sudden  change  of  the  noise  and  hurry  of  war  to  still- 
ness and  repose.  When  the  pleasures  of  novelty  went  away,  I 
employed  my  hours  in  examining  the  plants  which  grew  in  the 
valley,  and  the  minerals  which  I  collected  from  the  rocks.  But 
that  inquiry  is  now  grown  tasteless  and  irksome.  I  have  been 
for  some  time  unsettled  and  distracted:  my  mind  is  disturbed 
with  a  thousand  perplexities  of  doubt,  and  vanities  of  imagina- 
tion, which  hourly  prevail  upon  me,  because  I  have  no  oppor- 
tunities of  relaxation  or  diversion.  I  am  sometimes  ashamed 
to  think  that  I  could  not  secure  myself  from  vice,  but  by  re- 
tiring from  the  exercise  of  virtue,  and  begin  to  suspect  that  I 
was  rather  impelled  by  resentment  than  led  by  devotion  into 
solitude.  My  fancy  riots  in  scenes  of  folly,  and  I  lament  that 
I  have  lost  so  much,  and  have  gained  so  little.  In  solitude,  if 
I  escape  the  example  of  bad  men,  I  want  likewise  the  counsel 
and  conversation  of  the  good.  I  have  been  long  comparing 
the  evils  with  the  advantages  of  society,  and  resolve  to  return 
into  the  world  to-morrow.  The  life  of  a  solitary  man  will  be 
certainly  miserable,  but  not  certainly  devout." 

They  heard  his  resolution  with  surprise,  but  after  a  short 
pause  offered  to  conduct  him  to  Cairo.  He  dug  up  a  con- 
siderable treasure  which  he  had  hid  among  the  rocks,  and 
accompanied  them  to  the  city,  on  which,  as  he  approached  it, 
he  gazed  with  rapture. 


RASSELAS.  47 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

The  Happiness  of  a  Life  led  according  to  Nature. 

RASSELAS  went  often  to  an  assembly  of  learned  men,  who 
met  at  stated  times  to  unbend  their  minds,  and  compare  their 
opinions.  Their  manners  were  somewhat  coarse,  but  their 
conversation  was  instructive,  and  their  disputations  acute, 
though  sometimes  too  violent,  and  often  continued  till  neither 
controvertist  remembered  upon  what  question  they  began. 
Some  faults  were  almost  general  among  them  :  everyone  was 
desirous  to  dictate  to  the  rest,  and  everyone  was  pleased  to 
hear  the  genius  or  knowledge  of  another  depreciated. 

In  this  assembly  Rasselas  was  relating  his  interview  with 
the  hermit,  and  the  wonder  with  which  he  heard  him  censure  a 
course  of  life  which  he  had  so  deliberately  chosen,  and  so 
laudably  followed.  The  sentiments  of  the  hearers  were  vari- 
ous. Some  were  of  opinion  that  the  folly  of  his  choice  had 
been  justly  punished  by  condemnation  to  perpetual  persever- 
ance. One  of  the  youngest  among  them,  with  great  vehemence, 
pronounced  him  a  hypocrite.  Some  talked  of  the  right  of  so- 
ciety to  the  labor  of  individuals,  and  considered  retirement  as 
a  desertion  from  duty.  Others  readily  allowed,  that  there  was 
a  time  when  the  claims  of  the  public  were  satisfied,  and  when 
a  man  might  properly  sequester  himself  to  review  his  life  and 
purify  his  heart. 

One,  who  appeared  more  affected  with  the  narrative  than 
the  rest,  thought  it  likely  that  the  hermit  would,  in  a  few  years, 
go  back  to  his  retreat,  and  perhaps,  if  shame  did  not  restrain, 
or  death  intercept  him,  return  once  more  from  his  retreat  into 
the  world :  "  For  the  hope  of  happiness,"  said  he,  "  is  so 
strongly  impressed  that  the  longest  experience  is  not  able  to 
efface  it.  Of  the  present  state,  whatever  it  be,  we  feel,  and  are 
forced  to  confess,  the  misery  j  yet,  when  the  same  state  is  again 
at  a  distance,  imagination  paints  it  as  desirable.  But  the  time 
will  surely  come,  when  desire  will  be  no  longer  our  tormentor, 
and  no  man  shall  be  wretched  but  by  his  own  fault." 

"  This,"  said  a  philosopher,  who  had  heard  him  with  tokens 
of  great  impatience,  "  is  the  present  condition  of  a  wise  man. 
The  time  is  already  come  when  none  are  wretched  but  by  their 
own  fault,  Nothing  is  more  idle  than  to  inquire  after  happi- 


4g  RASSELAS. 

ness,  which  nature  has  kindly  placed  within  our  reach.  The 
way  to  be  happy  is  to  live  according  to  nature,  in  obedience  to 
that  universal  and  unalterable  law  with  which  every  heart  is 
originally  impressed  ;  which  is  not  written  on  it  by  precept,  but 
engraven  by  destiny,  not  instilled  by  education,  but  infused  at 
our  nativity.  He  that  lives  according  to  nature  will  suffer 
nothing  from  the  delusions  of  hope,  or  importunities  of  desire: 
he  will  receive  and  reject  with  equability  of  temper;  and  act 
or  suffer  as  the  reason  of  things  shall  alternately  prescribe. 
Other  men  may  amuse  themselves  with  subtle  definitions,  or 
intricate  ratiocinations.  Let  them  learn  to  be  wise  by  easier 
means  :  let  them  observe  the  hind  of  the  forest,  and  the  linnet 
of  the  grove :  let  them  consider  the  life  of  animals,  whose  mo- 
tions are  regulated  by  instinct :  they  obey  their  guide,  and  are 
happy.  Let  us  therefore,  at  length,  cease  to  dispute,  and  learn 
to  live  ;  throw  away  the  incurnbrance  of  precepts,  which  they 
who  utter  them  with  so  much  pride  and  pomp  do  not  under- 
stand, and  carry  with  us  this  simple  and  intelligible  maxim, 
That  deviation  from  nature  is  deviation  from  happiness." 

When  he  had  spoken,  he  looked  round  him  with  a  placid 
air,  and  enjoyed  the  consciousness  of  his  own  beneficence. 
"  Sir,"  said  the  prince,  with  great  modesty,  "  as  I,  like  all  the 
rest  of  mankind,  am  desirous  of  felicity,  my  closest  attention 
has  been  fixed  upon  your  discourse  ;  I  doubt  not  the  truth  of 
a  position  which  a  man  so  learned  has  so  confidently  advanced. 
Let  me  only  know  what  it  is  to  live  according  to  nature  ?  " 

"  When  I  find  young  men  so  humble  and  so  docile,"  said 
the  philosopher,  "  I  can  deny  them  no  information  which  my 
studies  have  enabled  me  to  afford.  To  live  according  to  nature 
is  to  act  always  with  due  regard  to  the  fitness  arising  from  the 
relations  and  qualities  of  causes  and  effects  :  to  concur  with 
the  great  and  unchangeable  scheme  of  universal  felicity  ;  to 
co-operate  with  the  general  disposition  and  tendency  of  the 
present  system  of  things." 

The  prince  soon  found  that  this  was  one  of  the  sages  whom 
he  should  understand  less  as  he  heard  him  longer.  He  there- 
fore bowed  and  was  silent ;  and  the  philosopher,  supposing 
him  satisfied,  and  the  rest  vanquished,  rose  up,  and  departed 
with  the  air  of  a  man  that  had  co-operated  with  the  present 
system. 


KASSELAS.  49 


CHAPTER  XXIIL 

The  Prince  and  his  Sister  divide  between  them  the  Work  of  Observation. 

RASSELAS  returned  home  full  of  reflections,  doubtful  how  to 
direct  his  future  steps.  Of  the  way  to  happiness  he  found  the 
learned  and  simple  equally  ignorant;  but,  as  he  was  yet  young-, 
he  flattered  himself  that  he  had  time  remaining  for  more  ex- 
periments and  further  inquiries.  He  communicated  to  Imlac 
his  observations  and  his  doubts,  but  was  answered  by  him  with 
new  doubts,  and  remarks  that  gave  him  no  comfort.  He  there- 
fore discoursed  more  frequently  and  freely  with  his  sister,  who 
had  yet  the  same  hope  with  himself,  and  always  assisted  him 
to  give  some  reason  why,  though  he  had  been  hitherto  frus- 
trated, he  might  succeed  at  last. 

"  We  have  hitherto,"  said  she,  "  known  but  little  of  the 
world :  we  have  never  yet  been  either  great  or  mean.  In  our 
own  country,  though  we  had  royalty,  we  had  no  power ;  and  in, 
this  we  have  not  yet  seen  the  private  recesses  of  domestic 
peace.  Imlac  favors  not  our  search,  lest  we  should  in  time 
find  him  mistaken.  We  will  divide  the  task  between  us :  you 
shall  try  what  is  to  be  found  in  the  splendor  of  courts,  and  I 
will  range  the  shades  of  humbler  life.  Perhaps  command  and 
authority  may  be  the  supreme  blessings,  as  they  afford  most 
opportunities  of  doing  good  ;  or,  perhaps,  what  this  world  can 
give  maybe  found  in  the  modest  habitations  of  middle  fortune  ; 
too  low  for  great  designs,  and  too  high  for  penury  and  distress." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

The  Prince  Examines  the  Happiness  of  High  Stations. 

RASSELAS  applauded  the  design,  and  appeared  next  day 
with  a  splendid  retinue  at  the  court  of  the  Bassa.  He  was  soon 
distinguished  for  his  magnificence,  and  admitted,  as  a  prince 
whose  curiosity  had  brought  him  from  distant  countries,  to  an 
intimacy  with  the  great  officers,  and  frequent  conversation  with 
the  Bassa  himself. 

He  was  at  first  inclined  to  believe,  that  the  man  must  be 
pleased  with  his  own  condition  whom  all  approached  with  rever- 


g0  RASSELAS. 

ence,  and  heard  with  obedience,  and  who  had  the  power  to  ex- 
tend his  edicts  to  a  whole  kingdom.  "  There  can  be  no  pleasure," 
said  he,  "  equal  to  that  of  feeling  at  once  the  joy  of  thousands 
all  made  happy  by  wise  administration.  Yet,  since  by  the  law 
of  subordination  this  sublime  delight  can  be  in  one  nation  but 
the  lot  of  one,  it  is  surely  reasonable  to  think  that  there  is  some 
satisfaction  more  popular  and  accessible,  and  that  millions  can 
hardly  be  subjected  to  the  will  of  a  single  man,  only  to  fill  his 
particular  breast  with  incommunicable  content." 

These  thoughts  were  often  in  his  mind,  and  he  found  no 
solution  of  the  difficulty.  But  as  presents  and  civilities  gained 
him  more  familiarity,  he  found  that  almost  every  man  who  stood 
high  in  employment  hated  all  the  rest,  and  was  hated  by  them," 
and  that  their  lives  were  a  continual  succession  of  plots  and  de- 
tections, stratagems  and  escapes,  faction  and  treachery.  Many 
of  those  who  surrounded  the  Bassa  were  sent  only  to  watch  and 
report  his  conduct ;  every  tongue  was  muttering  censure,  and 
every  eye  was  searching  for  a  fault. 

At  last  the  letters  of  revocation  arrived,  the  Bassa  was  car- 
ried in  chains  to  Constantinople,  and  his  name  was  mentioned 
no  more. 

"  What  are  we  now  to  think  of  the  prerogatives  of  power  ?  " 
said  Rasselas  to  his  sister ;  "  is  it  without  any  efficacy  to  good  ? 
or,  is  the  subordinate  degree  only  dangerous,  and  the  supreme 
safe  and  glorious  ?  Is  the  Sultan  the  only  happy  man  in  his 
dominions  ?  or,  is  the  Sultan  himself  subject  to  the  torments 
of  suspicion,  and  the  dread  of  enemies  ?  " 

In  a  short  time  the  second  Bassa  was  deposed.  The  Sultan 
that  had  advanced  him  was  murdered  by  the  Janizaries,  and 
his  successor  had  other  views  and  different  favorites. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

The  Princess  Pursues  her  Inquiry  with  more  Diligence  than  Success. 

THE  princess,  in  the  mean  time,  insinuated  herself  into 
many  families  ;  for  there  are  few  doors  through  which  liberality, 
joined  with  good  humor,  cannot  find  its  way.  The  daughters 
of  many  houses  were  airy  and  cheerful ;  but  Nekayah  had  been 
too  long  accustomed  to  the  conversation  of  Imlac  and  her 
brother,  to  be  much  pleased  with  childish  levity,  and  prattle  which 
had  no  meaning.  She  found  their  thoughts  narrow,  their  wishes 
low,  and  their  merriment  often  artificial.  Their  pleasures,  poor  as 


KASSELAS.  5I 

they  were,  could  not  be  preserved  pure,  but  were  imbittered  by 
petty  competitions  and  worthless  emulation.  They  were  always 
jealous  of  the  beauty  of  each  other  ;  of  a  quality  to  which  solici- 
tude can  add  nothing,  and  from  which  detraction  can  take 
nothing  away.  Many  were  in  love  with  triflers  like  themselves, 
and  many  fancied  that  they  were  in  love  when  in  truth  they 
were  only  idle.  Their  affection  was  not  fixed  on  sense  or  virtue, 
and  therefore  seldom  ended  but  in  vexation.  Their  grief,  how- 
ever, like  their  joy,  was  transient :  everything  floated  in  their 
mind  unconnected  with  the  past  or  future,  so  that  one  desire 
easily  gave  way  to  another,  as  a  second  stone  cast  into  the 
water  effaces  and  confounds  the  circles  of  the  first. 

With  these  girls  she  played  as  with  inoffensive  animals,  and 
found  them  proud  of  her  countenance,  and  weary  of  her  com- 
pany. 

But  her  purpose  was  to  examine  more  deeply,  and  her  affa- 
bility easily  persuaded  the  hearts  that  were  swelling  with  sorrow 
to  discharge  their  secrets  in  her  ear :  and  those  whom  hope 
flattered,  or  prosperity  delighted,  often  courted  her  to  partake 
their  pleasures. 

The  princess  and  her  brother  commonly  met  in  the  evening 
in  a  private  summer-house  on  the  bank  of  the  Nile,  and  related 
to  each  other  the  occurrences  of  the  day.  As  they  were  sitting 
together,  the  princess  cast  her  eyes  upon  the  river  that  flowed 
before  her.  "  Answer,"  said  she,  "  great  father  of  waters,  thou 
that  rollest  thy  floods  through  eighty  nations,  to  the  invocations 
of  the  daughter  of  thy  native  king.  Tell  me  if  thou  waterest 
through  all  thy  course,  a  single  habitation  from  which  thou  dost 
not  hear  the  murmurs  of  complaint !  " 

"  You  are  then,"  said  Rasselas,  "  not  more  successful  in 
private  houses  than  I  have  been  in  courts."  "  I  have,  since 
the  last  partition  of  our  provinces,"  said  the  princess,  "enabled 
myself  to  enter  familiarly  into  many  families,  where  there  was 
the  fairest  show  of  prosperity  and  peace,  and  know  not  one 
house  that  is  not  haunted  by  some  fury  that  destroys  their 
quiet. 

"  I  did  not  seek  ease  among  the  poor,  because  I  concluded 
that  there  it  could  not  be  found.  But  I  saw  many  poor,  whom 
I  had  supposed  to  live  in  affluence.  Poverty  has,  in  large  cities, 
very  different  appearances :  it  is  often  concealed  in  splendor, 
and  often  in  extravagance.  It  is  the  care  of  a  very  great  part 
of  mankind  to  conceal  their  indigence  from  the  rest ;  they  sup- 
port themselves  by  temporary  expedients,  and  every  day  is  lost 
in  contriving  for  the  morrow, 


S2  KASSELAS. 

"  This,  however,  was  an  evil  whichx  though  frequent,  I  saw 
with  l«ss  pain,  because  I  could  relieve  it.  Yet  some  have 
refused  my  bounties  ;  more  offended  with  my  quickness  to  detect 
their  wants  than  pleased  with  my  readiness  to  succor  them,  and 
others,  whose  exigencies  compelled  them  to  admit  my  kindness, 
have  never  been  able  to  forgive  their  benefactress.  Manyv 
however,  have  been  sincerely  grateful,  without  the  ostentation 
of  gratitude,  or  the  hope  of  other  favors." 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

The  Princess  Continues  her  Remarks  upon  Private  Life. 

NEKAYAH,  perceiving  her  brother's  attention  fixed,  pro- 
ceeded in  her  narrative. 

"  In  families,  where  there  is  or  is  not  poverty,  there  is 
commonly  discord  :  if  a  kingdom  be,  as  Imlac  tells  us,  a  great 
fa.Tiily,  a  family  likewise  is  a  little  kingdom,  torn  with  factions 
and  exposed  to  revolutions.  An  unpracticed  observer  expects 
the  love  of  parents  and  children  to  be  constant  and  equal ; 
but  this  kindness  seldom  continues  beyond  the  years  of 
infancy ;  in  a  short  time  the  children  become  rivals  to  their 
parents.  Benefits  are  allayed  by  reproaches,  and  gratitude 
debased  by  envy. 

"  Parents  and  children  seldom  act  in  concert :  each  child 
endeavors  to  appropriate  the  esteem  or  fondness  of  the 
parents,  and  the  parents,  with  yet  less  temptation,  betray  each 
other  to  their  children :  thus  some  place  their  confidence  in 
the  father,  and  some  in  the  mother,  and  by  degrees  the  house 
is  filled  with  artifices  and  feuds. 

"  The  opinions  of  children  and  parents,  of  the  young  and 
the  old,  are  naturally  opposite,  by  the  contrary  effects  of  hope 
and  despondence,  of  expectation  and  experience,  without 
crime  or  folly  on  either  side.  The  colors  of  life  in  youth  and 
age  appear  different,  as  the  face  of  nature  in  spring  and 
winter.  And  how  can  children  credit  the  assertions  of  pa- 
rents, which  their  own  eyes  show  them  to  be  false  ? 

"  Few  parents  act  in  such  a  manner  as  much  to  enforce 
their  maxims  by  the  credit  of  their  lives.  The  old  man  trusts 
wholly  to  slow  contrivance  and  gradual  progression  :  the  youth 
expects  to  force  his  way  "by  genius,  vigor,  and  precipitance. 
The  old  man  pays  regard  to  riches,  and  the  youth  reverences 
Virtue.  The  old  man  defies  prudence  :  the  youth  commits. 


KASSELAS. 


S3 


himself  to  magnanimity  and  chance.  The  young  man,  who 
intends  no  ill,  believes  that  none  is  intended,  and  therefore 
acts  with  openness  and  candor ;  but  his  father,  having  suf- 
fered the  injuries  of  fraud,  is  impelled  to  suspect,  and  too 
often  allured  to  practice  it.  Age  looks  with  anger  on  the 
temerity  of  youth,  and  youth  with  contempt  on  the  scrupulosity 
of  age.  Thus  parents  and  children,  for  the  greatest  part,  live 
on  to  love  less  ai  d  less :  and  if  those  whom  nature  has  thus 
closely  united  are  the  torments  of  each  other,  where  shall  we 
look  for  tenderness  and  consolation." 

"  Surely,"  said  the  prince,  "you  must  have  been  unfortunate 
in  your  choice  of  acquaintance  :  I  am  unwilling  to  believe,  that 
the  most  tender  of  all  relations  is  thus  impeded  in  its  effects 
by  natural  necessity." 

"  Domestic  discord,"  answered  she,  "  is  not  inevitably  and 
fatally  necessary;  but  yet  it  is  not  easy  to  avoid.  We  seldom 
see  that  a  whole  family  is  virtuous  ;  the  good  and  evil  cannot 
well  agree  ;  and  the  evil  can  yet  less  agree  with  one  another; 
even  the  virtuous  fall  sometimes  to  variance,  when  their  virtues 
are  of  different  kinds,  and  tending  to  extremes.  In  general, 
those  parents  have  most  reverence  that  most  deserve  it :  for  he 
that  lives  well  cannot  be  despised. 

"  Many  other  evils  infest  private  life.  Some  are  the  slaves 
of  servants  whom  they  have  trusted  withwtheir  affairs.  Some 
are  kept  in  continual  anxiety  by  the  caprice  of  rich  relations, 
whom  they  cannot  please  and  dare  not  offend.  Some  hus- 
bands are  imperious,  and  some  wives  perverse :  and  as  it  is 
always  more  easy  to  do  evil  than  good,  though  the  wisdom  or 
virtue  of  one  can  very  rarely  make  many  happy,  the  folly  or 
vice  of  one  may  often  make  many  miserable." 

"  If  such  be  the  general  effect  of  marriage,"  said  the  prince, 
"I  shall,  for  the  future,  think  it  dangerous  to  connect  my 
interest  with  that  of  another,  lest  I  should  be  unhappy  by  my 
partner's  fault." 

"  I  have  met,"  said  the  princess,  "  with  many  who  live 
single  for  that  reason  ;  but  I  have  never  found  that  their  pru- 
dence ought  to  raise  envy.  They  dream  away  their  time  with- 
out friendship,  without  fondness,  and  are  driven  to  rid  them- 
selves of  the  day,  for  which  they  have  no  use,  by  childish 
amusements  or  vicious  delights.  They  act  as  beings  under  the 
constant  sense  of  some  known  inferiority,  that  fills  their  minds 
with  rancor  ;  and.  their  tongues  with  censure.  They  are 
peevish  at  home,  and  malevolent  abroad ;  and,  as  the  outlaws 
of  human  nature,  make  it  their  business  and  their  pleasure  tg 


54  RASSELAS, 

disturb  that  society  which  debars  them  from  its  privileges. 
To  live  without  feeling  or  exciting  sympathy,  to  be  fortunate 
without  adding  to  the  felicity  of  others,  or  afflicted  without 
tasting  the  balm  of  pity,  is  a  state  more  gloomy  than  solitude  ; 
it  is  not  retreat,  but  exclusion  from  mankind.  Marriage  has 
many  pains,  but  celibacy  has  no  pleasures." 

"  What,  then,  is  to  be  done  ? "  said  Rasselas  ;  "  the  more 
we  inquire  the  less  we  can  resolve.  Surely  he  is  most  likely 
to  please  himself  that  has  no  other  inclination  or  regard." 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Disquisition  upon  Greatness. 

THE  conversation  had  a  short  pause.  The  prince,  having 
considered  his  sister's  observations,  told  her,  that  she  had  sur- 
veyed life  with  prejudice,  and  supposed  misery  where  she  did 
not  find  it.  "  Your  narrative,"  says  he,  "  throws  yet  a  darker 
gloom  upon  the  prospects  of  futurity  ;  the  predictions  of  Imlac 
were  but  faint  sketches  of  the  evils  painted  by  Nekayah.  I 
have  been  lately  convinced  that  quiet  is  not  the  daughter  of 
grandeur  or  of  power :  that  her  presence  is  not  to  be  bought 
by  wealth,  nor  enforced  by  conquest.  It  is  evident,  that  as 
any  man  acts  in  a  wider  compass,  he  must  be  more  exposed 
to  opposition  from  enmity,  or  miscarriage  from  chance  ;  who- 
ever has  many  to  please  or  to  govern  must  use  the  ministry  of 
many  agents,  some  of  whom  will  be  wicked,  and  some  ignor- 
ant ;  by  some  he  will  be  misled,  and  by  others  betrayed.  If 
he  gratifies  one,  he  will  offend  another :  those  that  are  not 
favored  will  think  themselves  injured  :  and,  since  favors  can 
be  conferred  but  upon  few,  the  greater  number  will  be  always 
discontented." 

"The  discontent,"  said  the  princess,  "which  is  thus  un- 
reasonable, I  hope  that  I  shall  always  have  spirit  to  despise, 
and  you  power  to  repress." 

"  Discontent,"  answered  Rasselas,  "  will  not  always  be  with- 
out reason  under  the  most  just  and  vigilant  administration  of 
public  affairs.  None,  however  attentive,  can  always  discover 
that  merit  which  indulgence  or  faction  may  happen  to  obscure  ; 
and  none,  however  powerful,  can  always  reward  it.  Yet  he 
that  sees  inferior  desert  advanced  above  him  will  naturally  im- 
pute that  preference  to  partiality  or  caprice  ;  and,  indeed,  it  can 
scarcely  be  hoped  that  any  man,  however  magnanimous  by 


KASSELAS. 


55 


nature,  or  exalted  by  condition,  will  be  able  to  persist  forever 
in  the  fixed  and  inexorable  justice  of  distribution  ;  he  will  some- 
times indulge  his  own  affections,  and  sometimes  those  of  his 
favorites  ;  he  will  permit  some  to  please  him  who  can  never 
serve  him ;  he  will  discover,  in  those  whom  he  loves,  qualities 
which  in  reality  they  do  not  possess  ;  and  to  those,  from  whom 
he  receives  pleasure,  he  will  in  his  turn  endeavor  to  give  it. 
Thus  will  recommendations  sometimes  prevail  which  were  pur- 
chased by  money,  or  by  the  more  destructive  bribery  of  flattery 
and  servility. 

"  He  that  has  much  to  do  will  do  something  wrong,  and  of 
that  wrong  must  suffer  the  consequences ;  and  if  it  were  pos- 
sible that  he  should  always  act  rightly,  yet  when  such  numbers 
are  to  judge  of  his  conduct,  the  bad  will  censure  and  obstruct 
him  by  malevolence,  and  the  good  sometimes  by  mistake. 

"  The  highest  stations  cannot  therefore  hope  to  be  abodes 
of  happiness,  which  I  would  willingly  believe  to  have  fled  from 
thrones  and  palaces  to  seats  of  humble  mvacy  and  placid  ob- 
scurity. For  what  can  hinder  the  satisfaction,  or  intercept  the 
expectations,  of  him  whose  abilities  are  adequate  to  his  employ- 
ments, who  sees  with  his  own  eyes  the  whole  circuit  of  his  influ- 
ence, who  chooses  by  his  own  knowledge  all  whom  he  trusts, 
and  whom  none  are  tempted  to  deceive  by  hope  or  fear? 
Surely  he  fias  nothing  to  do  but  to  love  and  to  be  loved,  to  be 
virtuous,  and  to  be  happy." 

"  Whether  perfect  happiness  would  be  procured  by  perfect 
goodness,"  said  Nekayah,  "  this  world  will  never  afford  an  op- 
portunity of  deciding.  But  this,  at  least,  may  be  maintained, 
that  we  do  not  always  find  visible  happiness  in  proportion  to 
visible  virtue.  All  natural  and  almost  all  political  evils  are 
incident  alike  to  the  bad  and  good:  they  are  confounded  in  the 
misery  of  a  famine,  and  not  much  distinguished  in  the  fury  of 
a  faction  ;  they  sink  together  in  a  tempest,  and  are  driven 
together  from  their  country  by  invaders.  All  that  virtue  can 
afford  is  quietness  of  conscience,  a  steady  prospect  of  a  hap- 
pier state  ;  this  may  enable  us  to  endure  calamity  with  patience  j 
but  remember  that  patience  must  suppose  pain." 


$6  RASSELAS. 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

Rasselas  and  Nekeyah  Continue  their  Conversation. 

"DEAR  princess,"  said  Rasselas,  "you  fall  into  the  common 
errors  of  exaggeratory  declamation,  by  producing,  in  a  familiar 
disquisition,  examples  of  national  calamities,  and  scenes  of  ex- 
tensive misery,  which  are  found  in  books  rather  than  in  the 
world,  and  which,  as  they  are  horrid,  are  ordained  to  be  rare. 
Let  us  not  imagine  evils  which  we  do  not  feel,  nor  injure  life 
by  misrepresentations.  I  cannot  bear  that  querulous  eloquence 
which  threatens  every  city  with  a  siege  like  that  of  Jerusalem, 
that  makes  famine  attend  on  every  flight  of  locusts,  and  sus- 
pends pestilence  on  the  wing  of  every  blast  that  issues  from  the 
south. 

"  On  necessary  and  inevitable  evils,  which  overwhelm  king- 
doms at  once,  all  disputation  is  vain :  when  they  happen,  they 
must  be  endured.  But  it  is  evident  that  these  bursts  of  universal 
distress  are  more  dreaded  than  felt  ^thousands  and  ten  thousands 
flourish  in  youth  and  wither  in  age,  without  the  knowledge  of 
any  other  than  domestic  evils,  and  share  the  same  pleasures  and 
vexations,  whether  their  kings  are  mild  or  cruel,  whether  the 
armies  of  their  country  pursue  their  enemies  or  retreat  before 
them.  While  courts  are  disturbed  with  intestine  competitions, 
and  ambassadors  are  negotiating  in  foreign  countries,  the  smith 
still  plies  his  anvil,  and  the  husbandman  drives  his  plough  for- 
ward :  the  necessaries  of  life  are  required  and  obtained ;  and 
the  successive  business  of  the  seasons  continues  to  make  its 
wonted  revolutions. 

"  Let  us  cease  to  consider  what,  perhaps,  may  never  happen, 
and  what,  when  it  shall  happen,  will  laugh  at  human  specula- 
tion. We  will  not  endeavor  to  modify  the  motions  of  the  ele- 
ments, or  to  fix  the  destiny  of  kingdoms.  It  is  our  business  to 
consider  what  beings  like  us  may  perform ;  each  laboring  for 
his  own  happiness  by  promoting  within  his  circle,  however  nar- 
row, the  happiness  of  others. 

"  Marriage  is  evidently  the  dictate  of  nature ;  men  and  women 
are  made  to  be  companions  of  each  other,  and  therefore  I  can- 
not be  persuaded  but  that  marriage  is  one  of  the  means  of  hap- 
piness." 

"  I  know  not,"  said  the  princess,  "  whether  marriage  be 
more  than  one  of  the  innumerable  modes  of  human  misery. 


RASSELAS. 


57 


When  I  see  and  reckon  the  various  forms  cf  connubial  infelicity, 
the  unexpected  causes  of  lasting  discord,  the  diversities  of 
temper,  the  oppositions  of  opinion,  the  rude  collisions  of  contrary 
desire  where  both  are  urged  by  violent  impulses,  the  obstinate  con- 
tests of  disagreeable  virtues  where  both  are  supported  by  con- 
sciousness of  good  intention,  I  am  sometimes  disposed  to  think, 
with  the  severer  casuists  of  most  nations,  that  marriage  is  rather 
permitted  than  approved,  and  that  none,  but  by  the  instigation 
of  a  passion  too  much  indulged,  entangle  themselves  with  in- 
dissoluble compacts." 

"You  seem  to  forget,"  replied  Rasselas,  "that  you  have, 
even  now,  represented  celibacy  as  less  happy  than  marriage. 
Both  conditions  may  be  bad,  but  they  cannot  both  be  worst. 
Thus  it  happens  when  wrong  opinions  are  entertained,  that 
they  mutually  destroy  each  other,  and  leave  the  mind  open  to 
truth." 

"  I  did  not  expect,"  answered  the  princess,  "  to  hear  that 
imputed  to  falsehood  which  is  the  consequence  only  of  frailty. 
To  the  mind,  as  to  the  eye,  it  is  difficult  to  compare  with  exact- 
ness objects  vast  in  their  extent,  and  various  in  their  parts. 
Where  we  see  or  conceive  the  whole  at  once,  we  readily  note 
the  discriminations,  and  decide  the  preference  ;  but  of  two  sys- 
tems, of  which  neither  can  be  surveyed  by  any  human  being  in 
its  full  compass  of  magnitude  and  multiplicity  of  complication, 
where  is  the  wonder  that,  judging  of  the  whole  by  parts,  I  am 
alternately  affected  by  one  and  the  other,  as  either  presses  on 
my  memory  or  fancy  ?  We  differ  from  ourselves  just  as  we  differ 
from  each  other,  when  we  see  only  parts  of  the  question,  as  in 
the  multifarious  relations  of  politics  and  morality ;  but  when  we 
perceive  the  whole  at  once,  as  numerical  computations,  all  agree 
in  one  judgment,  and  none  ever  varies  his  opinion." 

"  Let  us  not  add,"  said  the  prince,  "  to  the  other  evils  of 
life  the  bitterness  of  controversy,  nor  endeavor  to  vie  with  each 
other  in  subtilties  of  argument.  We  are  employed  in  a  search, 
of  which  both  are  equally  to  enjoy  the  success,  or  suffer  by  the 
miscarriage.  It  is  therefore  fit  that  we  assist  each  other.  You 
surely  conclude  too  hastily  from  the  infelicity  of  marriage 
against  its  institution :  will  not  the  misery  of  life  prove  equally 
that  life  cannot  be  the  gift  of  Heaven  ?  The  world  must  be 
peopled  by  marriage,  or  peopled  without  it." 

"How  the  world  is  to  be  peopled,"  returned  Nekayah,  "is 
not  my  care,  and  needs  not  be  yours.  I  see  no  danger  that  the 
present  generation. should  omit  to  leave  successors  behind  them : 
we  are  not  now  inquiring  for  the  world,  but  for  ourselves." 


58  RASSELAS. 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

The  Debate  of  Marriage  Continued. 

"THE  good  of  the  whole,"  says  Rasselas,  "is  the  same 
with  the  good  of  all  its  parts.  If  marriage  be  best  for  man- 
kind, it  must  be  evidently  best  for  individuals,  or  a  permanent 
and  necessary  duty  must  be  the  cause  of  evil,  and  some  must 
be  inevitably  sacrificed  to  the  convenience  of  others.  In  the 
estimate  which  you  have  made  of  the  two  states,  it  appears  that 
the  incommodities  of  a  single  life  are,  in  a  great  measure, 
necessary  and  certain,  but  those  of  the  conjugal  state  accidental 
and  avoidable. 

"  I  cannot  forbear  to  flatter  myself,  that  prudence  and  ben- 
evolence will  make  marriage  happy.  The  general  folly  of  man- 
kind is  the  cause  of  general  complaint.  What  can  be  expected 
but  disappointment  and  repentance  from  a  choice  made  in  the 
immaturity  of  youth,  in  the  ardor  of  desire,  without  judgment, 
without  foresight,  without  inquiry  after  conformity  of  opinions, 
similarity  of  manners,  rectitude  of  judgment,  or  purity  of  senti- 
ment? 

"  Such  is  the  common  process  of  marriage.  A  youth  or 
maiden  meeting  by  chance,  or  brought  together  by  artifice,  ex- 
change glances,  reciprocate  civilities,  go  home,  and  dream  of 
one  another.  Having  little  to  divert  attention,  or  diversify 
thought,  they  find  themselves  uneasy  when  they  are  apart,  and 
therefore  conclude  that  they  shall  be  happy  together.  They 
marry,  and  discover  what  nothing  but  voluntary  blindness  be- 
fore had  concealed ;  they  wear  out  life  in  altercations,  and 
charge  nature  with  cruelty. 

"  From  those  early  marriages  proceeds  likewise  the  rivalry 
of  parents  and  children ;  the  son  is  eager  to  enjoy  the  world 
before  the  father  is  willing  to  forsake  it,  and  there  is  hardly 
room  at  once  for  two  generations.  The  daughter  begins  to 
bloom  before  the  mother  can  be  content  to  fade,  and  neither 
can  forbear  to  wish  for  the  absence  of  the  other. 

"  Surely  all  these  evils  may  be  avoided  by  that  deliberation 
and  delay  which  prudence  prescribes  to  irrevocable  choice.  In 
the  variety  and  jollity  of  youthful  pleasures  life  may  be  well 
enough  supported  without  the  help  of  a  partner*  Longer  time 
will  increase,  experience,,  and  wider  views  yfill  allovy  bettei 


KASSELAS 


59 


opportunities  of  inquiry  and  selection  :  one  advantage,  at  least, 
will  be  certain;  the  parents  will  be  visibly  older  than  their 
children." 

"  What  reason  cannot  collect,"  said  Nekayah,  "  and  what 
experiment  has  not  yet  taught,  can  be  known  only  from  the  re- 
port of  others.  I  have  been  told  that  late  marriages  are  not 
eminently  happy.  This  is  a  question  too  important  to  be 
neglected,  and  I  have  often  proposed  it  to  those  whose  accu- 
racy of  remark  and  comprehensiveness  of  knowledge  made 
their  suffrages  worthy  of  regard.  They  have  generally  deter- 
mined that  it  is  dangerous  for  a  man  and  woman  to  suspend 
their  fate  upon  each  other,  at  a  time  when  opinions  are  fixed, 
and  habits  are  established ;  when  friendships  have  been  con- 
tracted on  both  sides,  when  life  has  been  planned  into  method, 
and  the  mind  has  long  enjoyed  the  contemplation  of  its  own 
prospects. 

"It  is  scarcely  possible  that  two,  travelling  through  the 
world,  under  the  conduct  of  chance,  should  have  been  both 
directed  to  the  same  path,  and  it  will  not  often  happen  that 
either  will  quit  the  track  which  custom  has  made  pleasing. 
When  the  desultory  levity  of  youth  has  settled  into  regularity, 
it  is  soon  succeeded  by  pride  ashamed  to  yield,  or  obstinacy 
delighting  to  contend.  And  even  though  mutual  esteem  pro- 
duces mutual  desire  to  please,  time  itself,  as  it  modifies  un- 
changeably the  external  mien,  determines  likewise  the  direction 
of  the  passions,  and  gives  an  inflexible  rigidity  to  the  manners. 
Long  customs  are  not  easily  broken  :  he  that  attempts  to  change 
the  course  of  his  own  life  very  often  labors  in  vain:  and  how 
shall  we  do  that  for  others,  which  we  are  seldom  able  to  do  for 
ourselves  ? " 

"  But  surely,"  interposed  the  prince,  "  you  suppose  the  chief 
motive  of  choice  forgotten  or  neglected.  Whenever  I  shall 
seek  a  wife,  it  shall  be  my  first  question,  whether  she  be  willing 
to  be  led  by  reason  ? " 

"  Thus  it  is,"  said  Nekayah,  "  that  philosophers  are  de- 
ceived. There  are  a  thousand  familiar  disputes  which  reason 
never  can  decide ;  questions  that  elude  investigation,  and 
make  logic  ridiculous  ;  cases  where  something  must  be  done, 
and  where  little  can  be  said.  Consider  the  state  of  mankind, 
and  inquire  how  few  can  be  supposed  to  act  upon  any  occa- 
sions, whether  small  or  great,  with  all  the  reasons  of  action 
present  to  their  minds.  Wretched  would  be  the  pair  above  all 
names  of  wretchedness,  who  should  be  doomed  to  adjust  by 
reason,  every  morning,  all  the  minute  detail  of  a  domestic  day. 


6o  RASSELAS. 

"Those  who  marry  at  an  advanced  age  will  probably  escape 
the  encroachments  of  their  children  ;  but,  in  diminution  of  this 
advantage,  they  will  be  likely  to  leave  them,  ignorant  and  help- 
less, to  a  guardian's  mercy :  or,  if  that  should  not  happen,  they 
must  at  least  go  out  of  the  world  before  they  see  those  whom 
they  love  best  either  wise  or  great. 

"  From  their  children,  if  they  have  less  to  fear,  they 
have  less  also  to  hope ;  and  they  lose,  without  equivalent,  the 
joys  of  early  love,  and  the  convenience  of  uniting  with  manners 
pliant,  and  minds  susceptible  of  new  impressions,  which  might 
wear  away  their  dissimilitudes  by  long  cohabitation ;  as  soft 
bodies,  by  continual  attrition,  conform  their  surfaces  to  each 
other. 

"  I  believe  it  will  be  found  that  those  who  marry  late  are 
best  pleased  with  their  children,  and  those  who  marry  early 
with  their  partners." 

"The  union  of  these  two  affections,"  said  Rasselas,  "would 
produce  all  that  could  be  wished.  Perhaps  there  is  a  time 
when  marriage  might  unite  them,  a  time  neither  too  early  for 
the  father,  nor  too  late  for  the  husband." 

"Every  hour,"  answered  the  princess,  "confirms  my  preju- 
dice in  favor  of  the  position  so  often  uttered  by  the  mouth  of 
Imlac,  '  That  nature  sets  her  gifts  on  the  right  hand  and  on  the 
left.'  Those  conditions,  which  flatter  hope  and  attract  desire, 
are  so  constituted,  that,  as  we  approach  one,  we  recede  from 
another.  There  are  goods  so  opposed  that  we  cannot  seize 
both,  but,  by  too  much  prudence,  may  pass  between  them  at 
too  great  a  distance  to  reach  either.  This  is  often  the  fate  of 
long  consideration ;  he  does  nothing  who  endeavors  to  do 
more  than  is  allowed  to  humanity.  Flatter  not  yourself  with 
contrarieties  of  pleasure.  Of  the  blessings  set  before  you  make 
your  choice,  and  be  content.  No  man  can  taste  the  fruits  of 
autumn  while  he  is  delighting  his  scent  with  the  flowers  of 
spring :  no  man  can,  at  the  same  time,  fill  his  cup  from  the 
source  and  from  the  mouth  of  the  Nile." 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

Imlac  enters,  and  changes  the  Conversation. 

HERE  Imlac  entered  and  interrupted  them.  "  Imlac,"  said 
Rasselas,  "  I  have  been  taking  from  the  princess  the  dismal 
history  of  private  life,  and  am  almost  discouraged  from  further 
search." 


AASSZLAS.  6 1 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Imlac,  "that  while  you  are  making 
the  choice  of  life,  you  neglect  to  live.  You  wander  about  a 
single  city,  which,  h jwever  large  and  diversified,  can  now  afford 
few  novelties,  and  forget  that  you  are  in  a  country  famous 
among  the  earliest  monarchies  for  the  power  and  wisdom  of  its 
inhabitants  ;  a  country  where  the  sciences  first  dawned  that 
illuminate  the  world,  and  beyond  which  the  arts  cannot  be 
traced  of  civil  society  or  domestic  life. 

"  The  old  Egyptians  have  left  behind  them  monuments  of 
industry  and  power,  before  which  all  European  magnificence  is 
confessed  to  fade  away.  The  ruins  of  their  architecture  are 
the  schools  of  modern  builders,  and  from  the  wonders  which 
time  has  spared,  we  may  conjecture,  though  uncertainly,  what 
it  has  destroyed." 

"  My  curiosity,"  said  Rasselas,  "  does  not  very  strongly  lead 
me  to  survey  the  piles  of  stone  or  mounds  of  earth  ;  my 
business  is  with  man.  I  came  hither  not  to  measure  fragments 
of  temples,  or  trace  choked  aqueducts,  but  to  look  upon  the 
various  scenes  of  the  present  world." 

"The  things  that  are  now  before  us,"  said  the  princess, 
"  require  attention  and  deserve  it.  What  have  I  to  do  with  the 
heroes  or  the  monuments  of  ancient  times  ?  with  times  which 
never  can  return,  and  heroes,  whose  form  of  life  was  different 
from  all  that  the  present  condition  of  man  requires  or  allows  ? " 

"  To  know  anything,"  returned  the  poet,  "  we  must  know 
its  effects ;  to  see  men  we  must  see  their  works,  that  we  may 
learn  what  reason  has  dictated,  or  passion  has  incited,  and  find 
what  are  the  most  powerful  motives  of  action.  To  judge  rightly 
of  the  present,  we  must  oppose  it  to  the  past ;  for  all  judgment 
is  comparative,  and  of  the  future  nothing  can  be  known.  The 
truth  is,  that  no  mind  is  much  employed  upon  the  present; 
recollection  and  anticipation  fill  up  almost  all  our  moments. 
Our  passions  are  joy  and  grief,  love  and  hatred,  hope  and  fear. 
Of  joy  and  grief  the  past  is  the  object,  and  the  future  of  hope  and 
fear  ;  even  love  and  hatred  respect  the  past,  for  the  cause  must 
have  been  before  the  effect. 

"  The  present  state  of  things  is  the  consequence  of  the  for- 
mer, and  it  is  natural  to  inquire  what  were  the  sources  of  the 
good  that  we  enjoy,  or  the  evil  that  we  suffer.  If  we  act  only 
for  ourselves,  to  neglect  the  study  of  history  is  not  prudent :  if 
we  are  intrusted  with  the  care  of  others,  it  is  not  just.  Ignor- 
ance, when  it  is  voluntary,  is  criminal ;  and  he  may  be  properly 
charged  with  evil  who  refused  to  learn  how  he  might  prevent  it. 

"  There  is  no  part  of  history  so  generally  useful  as  that  which 


62  RASSELAS. 

relates  the  progress  of  the  human  mind,  the  gradual  improve- 
ment of  reason,  the  successive  advances  of  science,  the  vicissi- 
tudes of  learning  and  ignorance,  which  are  the  light  and  dark- 
ness of  thinking  beings,  the  extinction  and  resuscitation  of  arts, 
and  the  revolutions  of  the  intellectual  world.  If  accounts  of 
battles  and  invasions  are  peculiarly  the  business  of  princes, 
the  useful  or  elegant  arts  are  not  to  be  neglected ;  those  who 
have  kingdoms  to  govern  have  understandings  to  .cultivate. 

"  Example  is  always  more  efficacious  than  precept.  A  sol- 
dier is  formed  in  war.  and  a  painter  must  copy  pictures.  In 
this,  contemplative  life  has  the  advantage :  great  actions  are 
seldom  seen,  but  the  labors  of  art  are  always  at  hand  for  those 
who  desire  to  know  what  art  has  been  able  to  perform. 

"  When  the  eye  or  the  imagination  is  struck  with  an  uncom- 
mon work,  the  next  transition  of  an  active  mind  is  to  the  means 
by  which  it  was  performed.  Here  begins  the  true  use  of  such 
contemplation  ;  we  enlarge  our  comprehension  by  new  ideas, 
and  perhaps  recover  some  art  lost  to  mankind,  or  learn  what 
is  less  perfectly  known  in  our  own  country.  At  least  we  com- 
pare our  own  with  former  times,  and  either  rejoice  at  our  im- 
provements, or,  what  is  the  first  motion  towards  good,  discover 
our  defects." 

"  I  am  willing,"  said  the  prince,  "  to  see  all  that  can  deserve 
my  search."  "  And  I,"  said  the  princess,  "  shall  rejoice  to 
learn  something  of  the  manners  of  antiquity." 

"  The  most  pompous  monument  of  Egyptian  greatness,  and 
one  of  the  most  bulky  works  of  manual  industry,"  said  Imlac, 
"  are  the  Pyramids  ;  fabrics  raised  before  the  time  of  history, 
and  of  which  the  earliest  narratives  afford  us  only  uncertain 
traditions.  Of  these  the  greatest  is  still  standing,  very  little 
injured  by  time." 

"  Let  us  visit  them  to-morrow,"  said  Nekayah.  "  I  have 
often  heard  of  the  Pyramids,  and  shall  not  rest  until  I  have  seen 
them  within  and  without  with  my  own  eyes." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

They  visit  the  Pyramids. 

THE  resolution  being  taken,  they  set  out  the  next  day. 
They  laid  tents  upon  their  camels,  being  resolved  to  stay  among 
the  Pyramids  till  their  curiosity  was  fully  satisfied.  They  trav- 
elled gently,  turned  aside  to  everything  remarkable,  stopped 


RASSELAS.  63 

from  time  to  time  and  conversed  with  the  inhabitants,  and 
observed  the  various  appearances  of  towns  ruined  and  inhabited, 
of  wild  and  cultivated  nature. 

When  they  came  to  the  great  Pyramid,  they  were  astonished 
at  the  extent  of  the  base,  and  the  height  of  the  top.  Imlac  ex- 
plained to  them  the  principles  upon  which  the  pyramidal  form 
was  chosen  for  a  fabric  intended  to  co-extend  its  duration  with 
that  of  the  world :  he  showed  that  its  gradual  diminution  gave 
it  such  stability  as  defeated  all  the  common  attacks  of  the  ele- 
ments, and  could  scarcely  be  overthrown  by  earthquakes  them- 
selves, the  least  resistible  of  natural  violence.  A  concussion 
that  should  shatter  the  Pyramid  would  threaten  the  dissolution 
of  the  continent. 

They  measured  all  its  dimensions,  and  pitched  their  tents 
at  its  foot.  Next  day  they  prepared  to  enter  its  interior  apart- 
ments ;  and,  having  hired  the  common  guides,  climbed  up  to 
the  first  passage,  when  the  favorite  of  the  princess,  looking 
into  the  cavity,  stepped  back  and  trembled.  "  Pekuah,"  said 
the  princess,  "  of  what  art  thou  afraid  ?  "  "  Of  the  narrow  en- 
trance," answered  the  lady,  "  and  of  the  dreadful  gloom.  I 
dare  not  enter  a  place  which  must  surely  be  inhabited  by  un- 
quiet souls.  The  original  possessors  of  these  dreadful  vaults 
will  start  up  before  us,  and  perhaps  shut  us  in  forever."  She 
spoke,  and  threw  her  arms  round  the  neck  of  her  mistress. 

"  If  all  your  fear  be  of  apparitions,"  said  the  prince,  "  I 
will  promise  you  safety ;  there  is  no  danger  from  the  dead  ;  he 
that  is  once  buried  will  be  seen  no  more." 

"That  the  dead  are  seen  no  more,"  said  Imlac,  "  I  will  not 
undertake  to  maintain,  against  the  concurrent  and  unvaried 
testimony  of  all  ages  and  of  all  nations.  There  is  no  people, 
rude  or  learned,  among  whom  apparitions  of  the  dead  are  not 
related  and  believed.  This  opinion,  which  perhaps  prevails  as 
far  as  human  nature  is  diffused,  could  become  universal  only 
by  its  truth ;  those  that  never  heard  of  one  another  would  not 
have  agreed  in  a  tale  which  nothing  but  experience  can  make 
credible.  That  it  is  doubted  by  single  cavillers  can  very  little 
weaken  the  general  evidence  ;  and  some  who  deny  it  with  their 
tongues  confess  it  by  their  fears. 

"  Yet  I  do  not  mean  to  add  new  terrors  to  those  which  have 
already  seized  upon  Pekuah.  There  can  be  no  reason  why 
spectres  should  haunt  the  Pyramid  more  than  other  places,  or 
why  they  should  have  power  or  will  to  hurt  innocence  and  purity. 
Our  entrance  is  no  violation  of  their  privileges ;  we  can  take 
nothing  from  them,  how  then  can  we  offend  them  ?  " 


64  RASSELAS. 

"  My  dear  Pekuah,"  said  the  princess,  "  I  will  always  go 
before  you,  and  Imlac  shall  follow  you.  Remember  that  you 
are  the  companion  of  the  princess  of  Abyssinia." 

"  If  the  princess  is  pleased  that  her  servant  should  die," 
returned  the  lady,  "  let  her  command  some  death  less  dreadful 
than  enclosure  in  this  horrid  cavern  ;  you  know  I  dare  not  dis- 
obey you  ;  I  must  go  if  you  command  me  ;  but,  if  I  once  enter, 
I  never  shall  come  back." 

The  princess  saw  that  her  fear  was  too  strong  for  expostu- 
lation or  reproof;  and,  embracing  her,  told  her  that  she  should 
stay  in  the  tent  till  their  return.  Pekuah  was  yet  not  satisfied, 
but  entreated  the  princess  not  to  pursue  so  dreadful  a  purpose 
as  that  of  entering  the  recesses  of  the  Pyramid.  "  Though  I 
cannot  teach  courage,"  said  Nekayah,  "  I  must  not  learn 
cowardice ;  nor  leave  at  last  undone  what  I  came  hither  only 
to  do." 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

They  enter  the  Pyramid. 

PEKUAH  descended  to  the  tents,  and  the  rest  entered  the 
Pyramid :  they  passed  through  the  galleries,  surveyed  the  vaults 
of  marble,  and  examined  the  chest  in  which  the  body  of  the 
founder  is  supposed  to  have  been  reposited.  They  then  sat 
down  in  one  of  the  most  spacious  chambers  to  rest  awhile  be- 
fore they  attempted  to  return. 

"  We  have  now,"  said  Imlac,  "  gratified  our  minds  with  an 
exact  view  of  the  greatest  work  of  man,  except  the  wall  of 
China. 

"  Of  the  wall  it  is  very  easy  to  assign  the  motive.  It 
secured  a  wealthy  and  timorous  nation  from  the  incursions  of 
barbarians,  whose  unskilfulness  in  the  arts  made  it  easier  for 
them  to  supply  their  wants  by  rapine  than  by  industry,  and 
who  from  time  to  time  poured  in  upon  the  habitations  of  peace- 
ful commerce,  as  vultures  descend  upon  domestic  fowl.  Their 
celerity  and  fierceness  rendered  the  wall  necessary,  and  their 
ignorance  made  it  efficacious. 

"  But  for  the  Pyramids  no  reason  has  ever  been  given  ade»- 
quate  to  the  cost  and  labor  of  the  work.  The  narrowness  of 
the  chambers  proves  that  it  could  afford  no  retreat  from  ene- 
mies, and  treasures  might  have  been  reposited  at  far  less  ex- 
pense with  equal  security.  It  seems  to  have  been  erected  only 


RASSSLAS.  65 

in  compliance  with  that  hunger  of  imagination  which  preys  in- 
cessantly upon  life,  and  must  be  always  appeased  by  some  em- 
ployment. Those  who  have  already  all  that  they  can  enjoy 
must  enlarge  their  desires.  He  that  has  built  for  use,  till  use 
is  supplied,  must  begin  to  build  for  vanity,  and  extend  his  plan 
to  the  utmost  power  of  human  performance,  that  he  may  not 
be  soon  reduced  to  form  another  wish. 

"  I  consider  this  mighty  structure  as  a  monument  of  the  in- 
sufficiency of  human  enjoyments.  A  king,  whose  power  is  un- 
limited, and  whose  treasures  surmount  all  real  and  imaginary 
wants,  is  compelled  to  solace,  by  the  erection  of  a  Pyramid, 
the  satiety  of  dominion  and  tastelessness  of  pleasures,  and  to 
amuse  the  tediousness  of  declining  life,  by  seeing  thousands 
laboring  without  end,  and  one  stone,  for  no  purpose,  laid  upon 
another.  Whoever  thou  art  that,  not  content  with  a  mod- 
erate condition,  imaginest  happiness  in  royal  magnificence,  and 
dreamest  that  command  or  riches  can  feed  the  appetite  of 
novelty  with  perpetual  gratifications,  survey  the  Pyramids,  and 
confess  thy  folly." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

The  Princess  meets  with  an  unexpected  Misfortune. 

THEY  rose  up,  and  returned  through  the  cavity  at  which 
they  had  entered,  and  the  princess  prepared  for  her  favorite  a 
long  narrative  of  dark  labyrinths  and  costly  rooms,  and  of  the 
different  impressions  which  the  varieties  of  the  way  had  made 
upon  her.  But  when  they  came  to  their  train,  they  found  every 
one  silent  and  dejected ;  the  men  discovered  shame  and  fear 
in  their  countenances,  and  the  women  were  weeping  in  the 
tents. 

What  had  happened  they  did  not  try  to  conjecture,  but  im- 
mediately inquired.  "  You  had  scarcely  entered  into  the 
Pyramid,"  said  one  of  the  attendants,  "  when  a  troop  of  Arabs 
rushed  upon  us  :  we  were  too  few  to  resist  them,  and  too  slow 
to  escape.  They  were  about  to  search  the  tents,  set  us  on  our 
camels,  and  drive  us  along  before  them,  when  the  approach  of 
gome  Turkish  horsemen  put  them  to  flight ;  but  they  seized 
the  lady  Pekuah  with  her  two  maids,  and  carried  her  away  ; 
the  Turks  are  now  pursuing  them  by  our  instigation,  but  I  fear 
they  will  not  be  able  to  overtake  them." 

The  princess  was  overpowered  with  surprise   and  grief. 


66  KASSELAS. 

Rasselas,  in  the  first  heat  of  his  resentment,  ordered  his  ser- 
vants to  follow  him,  and  prepared  to  pursue  the  robbers  with 
his  sabre  in  his  hand.  "  Sir,"  said  Imlac,  "  what  can  you  hope 
from  violence  or  valor?  the  Arabs  are  mounted  on  horses 
trained  to  battle  and  retreat ;  we  have  only  beasts  of  burden. 
By  leaving  qur  present  station  we  may  lose  the  princess,  but 
cannot  hope  to  regain  Pekuah." 

In  a  short  time  the  Turks  returned,  having  not  been  able  to 
reach  the  enemy.  The  princess  burst  out  into  new  lamenta- 
tions, and  Rasselas  could  scarcely  forbear  to  reproach  them  with 
cowardice  ;  but  Imlac  was  of  opinion  that  the  escape  of  the 
Arabs  was  no  addition  to  their  misfortune,  for  perhaps  they 
would  have  killed  their  captives  rather  than  have  resigned  them. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

They  return  to  Cairo  without  Pekuah. 

THERE  was  nothing  to  be  hoped  from  longer  stay.  They 
returned  to  Cairo,  repenting  of  their  curiosity,  censuring  the 
negligence  of  the  government,  lamenting  their  own  rashness, 
which  had  neglected  to  procure  a  guard,  imagining  many  expe- 
dients by  which  the  loss  of  Pekuah  might  have  been  prevented, 
and  resolving  to  do  something  for  her  recovery,  though  none 
could  find  anything  proper  to  be  done. 

Nekayah  retired  to  her  chamber,  where  her  women  at- 
tempted to  comfort  her,  by  telling  her  that  all  had  their  trou- 
bles, and  that  lady  Pekuah  had  enjoyed  much  happiness  in  the 
world  for  a  long  time,  and  might  reasonably  expect  a  change 
of  fortune.  They  hoped  that  some  good  would  befall  her 
wheresoever  she  was,  and  that  their  mistress  would  find  another 
friend  who  might  supply  her  place. 

The  princess  made  them  no  answer,  ana  they  continued  the 
form  of  condolence,  not  much  grieved  in  their  hearts  that  the 
favorite  was  lost. 

Next  day  the  prince  presented  to  the  Bassa  a  memorial  of 
the  wrong  which  he  had  suffered,  and  a  petition  for  redress. 
The  Bassa  threatened  to  punish  the  robbers,  but  did  not  at- 
tempt to  catch  them,  nor  indeed  could  any  account  or  descrip- 
tion be  given  by  which  he  might  direct  the  pursuit. 

It  soon  appeared  that  nothing  would  be  done  by  authority. 
Governors  being  accustomed  to  hear  of  more  crimes  than  they 
can  punish,  and  more  wrongs  than  they  can  redress,  set  them- 


RASSELAS.  67 

selves  at  ease  by  indiscriminate  negligence,  and  presently  for- 
get the  request  when  they  lose  sight  of  the  petitioner. 

Imlac  then  endeavored  to  gain  some  intelligence  by  private 
agents.  He  found  many  who  pretended  to  an  exact  knowledge 
of  all  the  haunts  of  the  Arabs,  and  to  regular  correspondence 
with  their  chiefs,  and  who  readily  undertook  the  recovery  of 
Pekuah.  Of  these,  SDme  were  furnished  with  money  for  their 
journey  and  came  back  no  more  ;  some  were  liberally  paid  for 
accounts  which  a  few  days  discovered  to  be  false.  But  the 
princess  would  not  suffer  any  means,  however  improbable,  to 
be  left  untried.  While  she  was  doing  something,  she  kept  her 
hope  alive.  As  one  expedient  failed,  another  was  suggested  ; 
when  one  messenger  returned  unsuccessful,  another  was  de- 
spatched to  a  different  quarter. 

Two  months  had  now  passed,  and  of  Pekuah  nothing  had 
been  heard  ;  the  hopes  which  they  had  endeavored  to  raise  in 
each  other  grew  more  languid  ;  and  the  princess,  when  she  saw 
nothing  more  to  be  tried,  sunk  down  inconsolable  in  hopeless 
dejection.  A  thousand  times  she  reproached  herself  with  the 
easy  compliance  by  which  she  permitted  her  favorite  to  stay 
behind  her.  "  Had  not  my  fondness,"  said  she,  "lessened  my 
authority,  Pekuah  had  not  dared  to  talk  of  her  terrors.  She 
ought  to  have  feared  me  more  than  spectres.  A  severe  look 
would  have  overpowered  her  ;  a  peremptory  command  would 
have  compelled  obedience.  Why  did  foolish  indulgence  pre- 
vail upon  me  ?  Why  did  I  not  speak,  and  refuse  to  hear? " 

"  Great  princess,"  said  Imlac,  "  do  not  reproach  yourself 
for  your  virtue,  or  consider  that  as  blamable  by  which  evil  has 
accidentally  been  caused.  Your  tenderness  for  the  timidity  of 
Pekuah  was  generous  and  kind.  When  we  act  according  to 
our  duty,  we  commit  the  event  to  Him  by  whose  laws  our  ac- 
tions are  governed,  and  who  will  suffer  none  to  be  finally  pun- 
ished for  obedience.  When,  in  prospect  of  some  good,  whether 
natural  or  moral,  we  break  the  rules  prescribed  us,  we  withdraw 
from  the  direction  of  superior  wisdom,  and  take  all  conse- 
quences upon  ourselves.  Man  cannot  so  far  know  the  connec- 
tion of  causes  and  events,  as  that  he  may  venture  to  do  wrong 
in  order  to  do  right.  When  we  pursue  our  end  by  lawful 
means,  we  may  always  console  our  miscarriage  by  the  hope  of 
future  recompense.  When  we  consult  only  our  own  policy, 
and  attempt  to  find  a  nearer  way  to  good,  by  overleaping  the 
settled  boundaries  of  right  and  wrong,  we  cannot  be  happy 
even  by  success,  because  we  cannot  escape  the  consciousness 
pf  our  fault :.  but,  if  we  miscarry,  the  disappointment  is  irreme- 


68  RASSELAS. 

diably  imbittered.  How  comfortless  is  the  sorrow  of  him  who 
feels  at  once  the  pangs  of  guilt,  and  the  vexation  of  calamity 
which  guilt  has  brought  upon  him  ! 

"  Consider,  princess,  what  would  have  been  your  condition, 
if  the  lady  Pekuah  had  entreated  to  accompany  you,  and,  being 
compelled  to  stay  in  the  tents,  had  been  carried  away  ;  or  how 
you  would  have  borne  the  thought  if  yo«  had  forced  her  into 
the  Pyramid,  and  she  had  died  before  you  in  agonies  of 
terror  ?  " 

"  Had  either  happened,"  said  Nekayah,  "  I  could  not  have 
endured  life  till  now:  I  should  have  been  tortured  to  madness 
by  the  remembrance  of  such  cruelty,  or  must  have  pined  away 
in  abhorrence  of  myself." 

"  This,  at  least,"  said  Imlac,  is  the  present  reward  of  vir- 
tuous conduct,  that  no  unlucky  conseauence  can  oblige  us  to 
repent  it." 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

The  Princess  languishes  for  want  of  Pekuah. 

NEKAYAH,  being  thus  reconciled  to  herself,  found  that  no 
evil  is  insupportable  but  that  which  is  accompanied  with  con- 
sciousness of  wrong.  She  was  from  that  time  delivered  from 
the  violence  of  tempestuous  sorrow,  and  sunk  into  silent  pen- 
siveness  and  gloomy  tranquillity.  She  sat  from  morning  to  even- 
ing recollecting  all  that  had  been  done  or  said  by  her  Pekuah, 
treasured  up  with  care  every  trifle  on  which  Pekuah  had  set  an 
accidental  value,  and  which  might  recall  to  mind  any  little  inci- 
dent or  careless  conversation.  The  sentiments  of  her,  whom 
she  now  expected  to  see  no  more,  were  treasured  in  her  mem- 
ory as  rules  of  life,  and  she  deliberated  to  no  other  end  than 
to  conjecture  on  any  occasion  what  would  have  been  the  opin- 
ion and  counsel  of  Pekuah. 

The  women  by  whom  she  was  attended  knew  nothing  of 
her  real  condition,  and  therefore  she  could  not  talk  to  them 
but  with  caution  and  reserve.  She  began  to  remit  her  curiosity, 
having  no  great  desire  to  collect  notions  which  she  had  not 
convenience  of  uttering.  Rasselas  endeavored  first  to  comfort, 
and  afterwards  to  divert  her  ;  he  hired  musicians,  to  whom  she 
seemed  to  listen,  but  did  not  hear  them  ;  and  procured  masters 
to  instruct  her  in  various  arts,  whose  lectures,  when  they  visited 
her  again,  were  again  to  be  repeated.  She  had  lost  her  taste 


RASSEZAS.  69 

of  pleasure  and  her  ambition  of  excellence.  And  her  mind, 
though  forced  into  short  excursions,  always  recurred  to  the 
image  of  her  friend. 

Imlac  was  every  morning  earnestly  enjoined  to  renew  his 
inquiries,  and  was  asked  every  night  whether  he  had  yet  heard 
of  Pekuah,  till,  not  being  able  to  return  the  princess  the  answer 
that  she  desired,  he  was  less  and  less  willing  to  come  into  her 
presence.  She  observed  his  backwardness,  and  commanded 
him  to  attend  her.  "You  are  not,"  said  she,  "to  confound 
impatience  with  resentment,  or  to  suppose  that  I  charge  you 
with  negligence,  because  I  repine  at  your  unsuccessfulness.  I 
do  not  much  wonder  at  your  absence  :  I  know  that  the  unhappy 
are  never  pleasing,  and  that  all  naturally  avoid  the  contagion 
of  misery.  To  hear  complaints  is  wearisome  alike  to  the 
wretched  and  the  happy  ;  for  who  would  cloud,  by  adventitious 
grief,  the  short  gleams  of  gayety  which  life  allows  us  ?  or  who, 
that  is  struggling  under  his  own  evils,  will  add  to  them  the 
miseries  of  another  ?  ^ 

"  The  time  is  at  hand  when  none  shall  be  disturbed  any 
longer  by  the  sighs  of  Nekayah :  my  search  after  happiness  is 
now  at  an  end.  I  am  resolved  to  retire  from  the  world  with 
all  its  flatteries  and  deceits,  and  will  hide  myself  in  solitude 
without  any  other  care  than  to  compose  my  thoughts,  and  regu- 
late my  hours  by  a  constant  succession  of  innocent  occupa- 
tions, till,  with  a  mind  purified  from  all  earthly  desires,  I  shall 
enter  into  that  state  to  which  all  are  hastening,  and  in  which  I 
hope  again  to  enjoy  the  friendship  of  Pekuah." 

"  Do  not  entangle  your  mind,"  said  Imlac,  "by  irrevocable 
determinations,  nor  increase  the  burden  of  life  by  a  voluntary 
accumulation  of  misery  :  the  weariness  of  retirement  will  con- 
tinue or  increase  when  the  loss  of  Pekuah  is  forgotten.  That 
you  have  been  deprived  of  one  pleasure  is  no  very  good  reason 
for  rejection  of  the  rest." 

"  Since  Pekuah  was  taken  from  me,"  said  the  princess,  "  I 
have  no  pleasure  to  reject  or  to  retain.  She  that  has  no  one 
to  love  or  trust  has  little  to  hope.  She  wants  the  radical 
principle  of  happiness.  We  may,  perhaps,  allow,  that  what 
satisfaction  this  world  can  afford  must  arise  from  the  conjunc- 
tion of  wealth,  knowledge,  and  goodness :  wealth  is  nothing 
but  as  it  is  bestowed,  and  knowledge  nothing  but  as  it  is  com- 
municated :  they  must  therefore  be  imparted  to  others,  and  to 
whom  could  I  now  delight  to  impart  them  ?  Goodness  affords 
the  only  comfort  which  can  be  enjoyed  without  a  partner  and 
goodness  may  be  practised  in  retirement," 


70  KASSELAS. 

"  How  far  solitude  may  admit  goodness,  or  advance  it,  I 
shall  not,"  replied  Imlac,  "dispute  at  present.  Remember 
the  confession  of  the  pious  hermit.  You  will  wish  to  return 
into  the  world  when  the  image  of  your  companion  has  left  your 
thoughts." — "  That  time,"  said  Nekayah,  "  will  never  come. 
The  generous  frankness,  the  modest  obsequiousness,  and  the 
faithful  secrecy  of  my  dear  Pekuah  will  always  be  more  missed 
as  I  shall  live  longer  to  see  vice  and  folly." 

"The  state  of  a  mind  oppressed  with  a  sudden  calamity," 
said  Imlac,  "  is  like  that  of  the  fabulous  inhabitants  of  the 
new-created  earth,  who,  when  the  first  night  came  upon  them, 
supposed  that  day  would  never  return.  When  the  clouds  of 
sorrow  gather  over  us,  we  see  nothing  beyond  them,  nor  can 
imagine  how  they  will  be  dispelled  :  yet  a  new  day  succeeded 
to  the  night,  and  sorrow  is  never  long  without  a  dawn  of  ease. 
But  they  who  restrain  themselves  from  receiving  comfort  do  as 
the  savages  would  have  done,  had  they  put  out  their  eyes  when 
it  wa^dark.  Our  minds,  like  our  bodies,  are  in  continual  flux; 
something  is  hourly  lost,  and  something  acquired.  To  lose 
much  at  once  is  inconvenient  to  either,  but  while  the  vital 
powers  remain  uninjured  nature  will  find  the  means  of  repara- 
tion. Distance  has  the  same  effect  on  the  mind  as  on  the  eye  : 
and  while  we  glide  along  the  stream  of  time,  whatever  we  leave 
behind  us  is  always  lessening,  and  that  which  we  approach  in- 
creasing in  magnitude.  Do  not  suffer  life  to  stagnate  ;  it  will 
grow  muddy  for  want  of  motion  :  commit  yourself  again  to  the 
current  of  the  world  ;  Pekuah  will  vanish  by  degrees  ;  you  will 
meet  in  your  way  some  other  favorite,  or  learn  to  diffuse  your- 
self in  general  conversation." 

"At  least,"  said  the  prince,  "do  not  despair  before  all 
remedies  have  been  tried  ;  the  inquiry  after  the  unfortunate 
lady  is  still  continued,  and  shall  be  carried  on  with  yet  greater 
diligence,  on  condition  that  you  will  promise  to  wait  a  year  for 
the  event,  without  any  unalterable  resolution." 

Nekayah  thought  this  a  reasonable  demand,  and  made  the 
promise  to  her  brother,  who  had  been  advised  by  Imlac  to 
require  it.  Imlac  had,  indeed,  no  great  hope  of  regaining 
Pekuah ;  but  he  supposed,  that  if  he  could  secure  the  interval 
of  a  year,  the  princess  would  then  be  in  no  danger  of  a  cloister. 


RASSELAS.  ji 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

Pekuah  is  still  remembered.     The  progress  of  Sorrow. 

NEKAYAH,  seeing  that  nothing  was  omitted  for  the  recovery 
0.  her  favorite,  and  having,  by  her  promise,  set  her  intention  of 
retirement  at  a  distance,  began  imperceptibly  to  return  to  com- 
mon cares  and  common  pleasures.  She  rejoiced  without  her 
own  consent  at  the  suspension  of  her  sorrows,  and  sometimes 
caught  herself  with  indignation  in  the  act  of  turning  away  her 
mind  from  the  remembrance  of  her,  whom  she  yet  resolved 
never  to  forget. 

She  then  appointed  a  certain  hour  of  the  day  for  medita- 
tion on  the  merits  and  fondness  of  Pekuah,  and  for  some  weeks 
retired  constantly  at  the  time  fixed,  and  returned  with  her  eyes 
swollen  and  her  countenance  clouded.  By  degrees  she  grew 
less  scrupulous,  and  suffered  any  important  and  pressing 
avocation  to  delay  the  tribute  of  daily  tears.  She  then  yielded 
to  less  occasions  ;  sometimes  forgot  what  she  was  indeed  afraid 
to  remember,  and  at  last  wholly  released  herself  from  the  duty 
of  periodical  affliction. 

Her  real  love  of  Pekuah  was  not  yet  diminished.  A  thou- 
sand occurrences  brought  her  back  to  memory,  and  a  thousand 
wants,  which  nothing  but  the  confidence  of  friendship  can  sup- 
ply, made  her  frequently  regretted.  She  therefore  solicited  Im- 
lac  never  to  desist  from  inquiry,  and  to  leave  no  art  of  intel- 
ligence untried,  that  at  least  she  might  have  the  comfort  of 
knowing  that  she  did  not  suffer  by  negligence  or  sluggishness. 
"  Yet  what,"  said  she,  "  is  to  be  expected  from  our  pursuit  of 
happiness,  when  we  find  the  state  of  life  to  be  such,  that  hap- 
piness itself  is  the  cause  of  misery  ?  Why  should  we  endeavor 
to  attain  that  of  which  the  possession  cannot  be  secured.  I 
shall  henceforward  fear  to  yield  my  heart  to  excellence,  how- 
ever bright,  or  to  fondness,  however  tender,  lest  I  should  lose 
again  what  I  have  lost  in  Pekuah." 

15 


72  KASSELAS. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

The  Princess  hears  news  of  Pekuah. 

IN  seven  months,  one  of  the  messengers,  who  had  been 
sent  away  upon  the  day  when  the  promise  was  drawn  from  the 
princess,  returned,  after  many  unsuccessful  rambles,  from  the 
borders  of  Nubia,  with  an  account  that  Pekuah  was  in  the  hand 
of  an  Arab  chief,  who  possessed  a  castle  or  fortress  on  the  ex- 
tremity of  Egypt.  The  Arab,  whose  revenue  was  plunder,  was 
willing  to  restore  her  with  her  two  attendants,  for  two  hundred 
ounces  of  gold. 

The  price  was  no  subject  of  debate.  The  princess  was  in 
ecstasies  when  she  heard  that  her  favorite  was  alive,  and  might 
so  cheaply  be  ransomed.  She  could  not  think  of  delaying  for 
a  moment  Pekuah's  happiness  or  her  own,  but  entreated  her 
brother  to  send  back  the  messenger  with  the  sum  required. 
Imlac  being  consulted  was  not  very  confident  of  the  veracity 
of  the  relator,  and  was  still  more  doubtful  of  the  Arab's  faith, 
who  might,  if  he  were  too  liberally  trusted,  detain  at  once  the 
money  and  the  captives.  He  thought  it  dangerous  to  put  them- 
selves in  the  power  of  the  Arab,  by  going  into  his  district,  and 
could  not  expect  that  the  rover  would  so  much  expose  himself 
as  to  come  into  the  lower  country,  where  he  might  be  seized  by 
the  forces  of  the  Bassa. 

It  is  difficult  to  negotiate  where  neither  will  trust.  But  Im- 
lac,.after  some  deliberation,  directed  the  messenger  to  propose 
that  Pekuah  should  be  conducted  by  ten  horsemen  to  the  mon- 
astery of  St.  Antony,  which  is  situated  in  the  deserts  of  Upper 
Egypt,  where  she  should  be  met  by  the  same  number,  and  her 
ransom  should  be  paid. 

That  no  time  might  be  lost,  as  they  expected  that  the  pro- 
posal would  not  be  refused,  they  immediately  began  their  jour- 
ney to  the  monastery  ;  and  when  they  arrived,  Imlac  went  for- 
ward with  the  former  messenger  to  the  Arab's  fortress.  Ras- 
selas  was  desirous  to  go  with  them  ;  but  neither  his  sister  nor 
Imlac  would  consent.  The  Arab,  according  to  the  custom  of 
his  nation,  observed  the  laws  of  hospitality  with  great  exactness 
to  those  who  put  themselves  into  his  power,  and,  in  a  few  days 
brought  Pekuah  with  her  maids,  by  easy  journeys,  to  the  place 
appointed,  where,  receiving  the  stipulated  price,  he  restored 


RASSELAS. 


73 


her  with  great  respect  to  liberty  and  her  friends,  and  undertook 
to  conduct  them  back  towards  Cairo,  beyond  all  danger  of  rob- 
bery or  violence. 

The  princess  and  her  favorite  embraced  each  other  with 
transport  too  violent  to  be  expressed,  and  went  out  together  to 
pour  the  tears  of  tenderness  in  secret,  and  exchange  professions 
of  kindness  and  gratitude.  After  a  few  hours  they  returned 
into  the  refectory  of  the  convent,  where,  in  the  presence  of  the 
prior  and  his  brethren,  the  prince  required  of  Pekuah  the  his- 
tory of  her  adventures. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

The  Adventures  of  the  Lady  Pekuah. 

AT  what  time  and  in  what  manner  I  was  forced  away," 
said  Pekuah,  "  your  servants  have  told  you.  The  suddenness 
of  the  event  struck  me  with  surprise,  and  I  was  at  first  rather 
stupefied  than  agitated  with  any  passion  of  either  fear  or  sorrow. 
My  confusion  was  increased  by  the  speed  and  tumult  of  our 
flight,  while  we  were  followed  by  the  Turks,  who,  as  it  seemed, 
soon  despaired  to  overtake  us,  or  were  afraid  of  those  whom 
they  made  a  show  of  menacing. 

"When  the  Arabs  saw  themselves  out  of  danger  they 
slackened  their  course,  and  as  I  was  less  harassed  by  external 
violence,  I  began  to  feel  more  uneasiness  in  my  mind.  After 
some  time  we  stopped  near  a  spring,  shaded  with  trees,  in  a 
pleasant  meadow,  where  we  were  set  upon  the  ground,  and 
offered  such  refreshments  as  our  masters  were  partaking.  I 
was  suffered  to  sit  with  my  maids  apart  from  the  rest,  and  none 
attempted  to  comfort  or  insult  us.  Here  I  first  began  to  feel 
the  full  weight  of  my  misery.  The  girls  sat  weeping  in  silence, 
and  from  time  to  time  looked  on  me  for  succor.  I  knew  not  to 
what  condition  we  were  doomed,  nor  could  conjecture  where 
would  be  the  place  of  our  captivity,  or  whence  to  draw  any 
hope  of  deliverance.  I  was  in  the  hands  of  robbers  and  savages 
and  had  no  reason  to  suppose  that  their  pity  was  more  than 
their  justice,  or  that  they  would  forbear  the  gratification  of  any 
ardor  of  desire  or  caprice  of  cruelty.  I,  however,  kissed  my 
maids,  and  endeavored  to  pacify  them  by  remarking,  that  we 
were  yet  treated  with  decency,  and  that,  since  we  were  now 
carried  beyond  pursuit,  there  was  no  danger  of  violence  to  our 
lives, 


74 


RASSELAS. 


"When  we  were  to  be  set  again  on  horseback,  my  maids 
clung  round  me,  and  refused  to  be  parted,  but  I  commanded 
them  not  to  irritate  those  who  had  us  in  their  power.  We 
travelled  the  remaining  part  of  the  day  through  an  unfrequented 
and  pathless  country,  and  came  by  moonlight  to  the  side  of  a 
hill,  where  the  rest  of  the  troop  was  stationed.  Their  tents 
were  pitched  and  their  fires  kindled,  and  our  chief  was  wel- 
comed as  a  man  much  beloved  by  his  dependants. 

<f  We  were  received  into  a  large  tent,  where  we  found  women 
who  had  attended  their  husbands  in  the  expedition.  They  set 
before  us  the  supper  which  they  had  provided,  and  I  ate  it 
rather  to  encourage  my  maids  than  to  comply  with  any  appetite 
of  my  own.  When  the  meat  was  taken  away  they  spread  the 
carpets  for  repose.  I  was  weary,  and  hoped  to  find  in  sleep 
that  remission  of  distress  which  nature  seldom  denies.  Order- 
ing myself  therefore  to  be  undressed,  I  observed  that  the 
women  looked  very  earnestly  upon  me,  not  expecting,  I  suppose, 
to  see  me  so  submissively  attended.  When  my  upper  vest  was 
taken  off,  they  were  apparently  struck  with  the  splendor  of  my 
clothes,  and  one  of  them  timorously  laid  her  hand  upon  the 
embroidery.  She  then  went  out,  and  in  a  short  time  came  back 
with  another  woman,  who  seemed  to  be  of  higher  rank  and 
greater  authority.  She  did,  at  her  entrance,  the  usual  act  of 
reverence,  and,  taking  me  by  the  hand,  placed  me  in  a  smaller 
tent,  spread  with  finer  carpets,  where  I  spent  the  night  quietly 
with  my  maids. 

"  In  the  morning,  as  I  was  setting  on  the  grass,  the  chief  of 
the  troop  came  towards  me.  I  rose  up  to  receive  him,  and  he 
bowed  with  great  respect.  '  Illustrious  lady,'  said  he,  '  my 
fortune  is  better  than  I  had  presumed  to  hope  ;  I  am  told  by 
my  women,  that  I  have  a  princess  in  my  camp.' — 'Sir,'  an- 
swered I,  'your  women  have  deceived  themselves  and  you  ;  I 
am  not  a  princess,  but  an  unhappy  stranger  who  intended  soon 
to  have  left  this  country,  in  which  I  am  now  to  be  imprisoned 
forever.! — '  Whoever,  or  whencesoever  you  are,'  returned  the 
Arab,  '  your  dress,  and  that  of  your  servants,  show  your  rank 
to  be  high,  and  your  wealth  to  be  great.  Why  should  you,  who 
can  so  easily  procure  your  ransom,  think  yourself  in  danger  of 
perpetual  captivity  ?  The  purpose  of  my  incursions  is  to  in- 
crease my  riches,  or,  more  properly,  to  gather  tribute.  The 
sons  of  Ishmael  are  the  natural  and  hereditary  lords  of  this 
part  of  the  continent,  which  is  usurped  by  late  invaders  and 
low-born  tyrants,  from  whom  we  are  compelled  to  take  by  the 
§word  what  is  denied  to  justice.  The  violence  of  war  admits 


RASSELAS.  75 

no  distinction  ;  the  lance,  that  is  lifted  at  guilt  and  power,  will 
sometimes  fall  on  innocence  and  gentleness.' 

"'How  little,'  said  I,  'did  I  expect  that  yesterday  it  should 
have  fallen  upon  me  ! ' 

"  '  Misfortunes,'  answered  the  Arab,  should  always  be  ex- 
pected. If  the  eye  of  hostility  could  learn  reverence  or  pity, 
excellence  like  yours  had  been  exempt  from  injury.  But  the 
angels  of  affliction  spread  their  toils  alike  for  the  virtuous  and 
the  wicked,  for  the  mighty  and  the  mean.  Do  not  be  discon- 
solate :  I  am  not  one  of  the  lawless  and  cruel  rovers  of  the 
desert ;  I  know  the  rules  of  civil  life  :  I  will  fix  your  ransom, 
give  a  passport  to  your  messenger,  and  perform  my  stipulation 
with  nice  punctuality.' 

"  You  will  easily  believe  that  I  was  pleased  with  his  cour- 
tesy .  and,  finding  that  his  predominant  passion  was  desire  of 
money,  I  began  now  to  think  my  danger  less,  for  I  knew  that 
no  sum  would  be  thought  too  great  for  the  release  of  Pekuah. 
I  told  him  that  he  should  have  no  reason  to  charge  me  with  in- 
gratitude, if  I  was  used  with  kindness,  and  that  any  ramsom 
which  could  be  expected  from  a  maid  of  common  rank  would 
be  paid,  but  that  he  must  not  persist  to  rate  me  as  a  princess. 
He  said  he  would  consider  what  he  should  demand,  and  then, 
smiling,  bowed  and  retired. 

"  Soon  after  the  women  came  about  me,  each  contending 
to  be  more  officious  than  the  other,  and  my  maids  themselves 
were  served  with  reverence.  We  travelled  onward  by  short 
journeys.  On  the  fourth  day  the  chief  told  me,  that  my  ran- 
som must  be  two  hundred  ounces  of  gold  ;  which  I  not  only 
promised  him,  but  told  him  that  I  would  add  fifty  mere,  if  I 
and  my  maids  were  honorably  treated. 

"  I  never  knew  the  power  of  gold  before.  From  that  time  I 
was  the  leader  of  the  troop.  The  march  of  every  day  was 
longer  or  shorter  as  I  commanded,  and  the  tents  were  pitched 
where  I  chose  to  rest.  We  now  had  camels  and  other  con- 
veniences for  travel,  my  own  women  were  always  at  my  side, 
and  I  amused  myself  with  observing  the  manners  of  the  va- 
grant nations,  and  with  viewing  remains  of  ancient  edifices,  with 
which  these  deserted  countries  appear  to  have  been,  in  some 
distant  age,  lavishly  embellished. 

"The  chief  of  the  band  was  a  man  far  from  illiterate:  he 
was  able  to  travel  by  the  stars  or  the  compass,  and  had  marked, 
in  his  erratic  expeditions,  such  places  as  are  most  worthy  the 
notice  of  a  passenger.  He  observed  to  me,  that  buildings  are 
always  best  preserved  in  places  little  frequented  and  difficult 


76  KASSELAS. 

of  access  ;  for,  when  once  a  country  declines  from  its  primitive 
splendor,  the  more  inhabitants  are  left,  the  quicker  ruin  will  be 
made.  Walls  supply  stones  more  easily  than  quarries,  and 
palaces  and  temples  will  be  demolished,  to  make  stables  of 
granite,  and  cottages  of  porphyry," 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

The  Adventures  of  Pekuah  continued. 

"WE  wandered  about  in  this  manner  for  some  weeks, 
whether,  as  our  chief  pretended,  for  my  gratification,  or,  as  I 
rather  suspected,  for  some  convenience  of  his  own.  I  endeav- 
ored to  appear  contented  where  sullenness  and  resentment 
would  have  been  of  no  use,  and  that  endeavor  conduced  much 
to  the  calmness  of  my  mind  ;  but  my  heart  was  always  with 
Nekayah,  and  the  troubles  of  the  night  much  overbalanced  the 
amusements  of  the  day.  My  women,  who  threw  all  their  cares 
upon  their  mistress,  set  their  minds  at  ease  from  the  time  when 
they  saw  me  treated  with  respect,  and  gave  themselves  up  to 
the  incidental  alleviations  of  our  fatigue  without  solicitude  or 
sorrow.  I  was  pleased  with  their  pleasure,  and  animated  with 
their  confidence.  My  condition  had  lost  much  of  its  terror, 
since  I  found  that  the  Arab  ranged  the  country  merely  for 
riches.  Avarice  is  a  uniform  and  tractable  vice:  other  intel- 
lectual distempers  are  different  in  different  constitutions  of 
mind ;  that  which  soothes  the  pride  of  one  will  offend  the 
pride  of  another  ;  but  to  the  favor  of  the  covetous  there  is  a 
ready  way  ;  bring  money,  and  nothing  is  denied. 

"  At  last  we  came  to  the  dwelling  of  our  chief,  a  strong 
and  spacious  house  built  with  stone  in  an  island  of  the  Nile, 
which  lies,  as  I  was  told,  under  the  tropic.  '  Lady,'  said  the 
Arab,  '  you  shall  rest  after  your  journey  a  few  weeks  in  this 
place,  where  you  are  to  consider  yourself  as  sovereign.  My 
occupation  is  war :  I  have  therefore  chosen  this  obscure  resi- 
dence, from  which  I  can  issue  unexpected,  and  to  which  I  can 
retire  unpursued.  You  may  now  repose  in  security  :  here  are 
few  pleasures,  but  here  is  no  danger.'  He  then  led  me  into 
the  inner  apartments,  and,  seating  me  on  the  richest  couch, 
bowed  to  the  ground.  His  women,  who  considered  me  as  a 
rival,  looked  on  me  with  malignity ;  but  being  soon  informed 
that  I  was  a  great  lady  detained  only  for  my  ransom,  they 
began  to  vie  with  each  other  in  obsequiousness  and  reverence. 


RASSELAS. 


77 


"Being  again  comforted  with  new  assurances  of  speedy 
liberty,  I  was  for  some  days  diverted  from  impatience  by  the 
novelty  of  the  place.  The  turrets  overlooked  the  country  to  a 
great  distance,  and  afforded  a  view  of  many  windings  of  the 
stream.  In  the  day  I  wandered  from  one  place  to  another,  as 
the  course  of  the  sun  varied  the  splendor  of  the  prospect,  and 
saw  many  things  which  I  had  never  seen  before.  The  croco- 
diles and  river-horses  are  common  in  this  unpeopled  region, 
and  I  often  looked  upon  them  with  terror,  though  I  knew  that 
they  could  not  hurt  me.  For  some  time  I  expected  to  see 
mermaids  and  tritons,  which,  as  Imlac  has  told  me,  the  Eu- 
ropean travellers  have  stationed  in  the  Nile  ;  but  no  such 
beings  ever  appeared,  and  the  Arab,  when  I  inquired  after 
them,  laughed  at  my  credulity. 

"At  night  the  Arab  always  attended  me  to  a  tower  set 
apart  for  celestial  observations,  where  he  endeavored  to  teach 
me  the  names  and  courses  of  the  stars.  I  had  no  great  incli- 
nation to  this  study,  but  an  appearance  of  attention  was  neces- 
sary to  please  my  instructor,  who  valued  himself  for  his  skill ; 
and,  in  a  little  while,  I  found  some  employment  requisite  to 
beguile  the  tediousness  of  time,  which  was  to  be  passed  always 
amidst  the  same  objects.  I  was  weary  of  looking  in  the  morn- 
ing on  things  from  which  I  had  turned  away  weary  in  the 
evening;  I  therefore  was  at  last  willing  to  observe  the  stars 
rather  than  do  nothing,  but  could  not  always  compose  my 
thoughts,  and  was  very  often  thinking  on  Nekayah,  when 
others  imagined  me  contemplating  the  sky.  Soon  after  the 
Arab  went  upon  another  expedition,  and  then  my  only  pleasure 
was  to  talk  with  my  maids  about  the  accident  by  which  we 
were  carried  away,  and  the  happiness  that  we  should  all  enjoy 
at  the  end  of  our  captivity." 

"  There  were  women  in  your  Arab's  fortress,"  said  the  prin- 
cess, "  why  did  you  not  make  them  your  companions,  enjoy 
their  conversation,  and  partake  their  diversions  ?  In  a  place 
where  they  found  business  or  amusement,  why  should  you 
alone  sit  corroded  with  idle  melancholy?  or  why  could  not 
you  bear  for  a  few  months  that  condition  to  which  they  were 
condemned  for  life  ? " 

"The  diversions  of  the  women,"  answered  Pekuah,  "were 
only  childish  play,  by  which  the  mind,  accustomed  to  stronger 
operations,  could  not  be  kept  busy.  I  could  do  all  which  they 
delighted  in  doing  by  powers  merely  sensitive,  while  my  intel- 
lectual faculties  were  flown  to  Cairo.  They  ran  from  room  to 
room,  as  a  bird  hops  from  wire  to  wire  in  his  cage.  They 


78  RASSELAS. 

danced  for  the  sake  of  motion,  as  lambs  frisk  in  a  meadow. 
One  sometimes  pretended  to  be  hurt,  that  the  rest  might  be 
alarmed  ;  or  hid  herself,  that  another  might  seek  her.  Pai  t  of 
their  time  passed  in  watching  the  progress  of  light  bodies  that 
floated  on  the  river,  and  part  in  marking  the  various  forms 
into  which  clouds  broke  in  the  sky. 

"Their  business  was  only  needlework,  in  which  I  and  my 
maids  sometimes  .helped  them  ;  but  you  know  that  the  mind 
will  easily  straggle  from  the  fingers,  nor  will  you  suspect  that 
captivity  and  absence  from  Nekayah  could  receive  solace  from 
silken  flowers. 

"  Nor  was  much  satisfaction  to  be  hoped  from  their  conver- 
sation ;  for  of  what  could  they  be  expected  to  talk  ?  They  had 
seen  nothing :  for  they  had  lived  from  early  youth  in  that  nar- 
row spot  :  of  what  they  had  not  seen  they  could  have  no 
knowledge,  for  they  could  not  read.  They  had  no  ideas  but  of 
the  few  things  that  were  within  their  view,  and  had  hardly 
names  for  anything  but  their  clothes  and  their  food.  As  I 
bore  a  superior  character,  I  was  often  called  to  terminate  their 
quarrels,  which  I  decided  as  equitably  as  I  could.  If  it  could 
have  amused  me  to  hear  the  complaints  of  each  against  the 
rest,  I  might  have  been  often  detained  by  long  stories  ;  but 
the  motives  of  their  animosity  were  so  small  that  I  could  not 
listen  without  interrupting  the  tale." 

"  How,"  said  Rasselas,  "  can  the  Arab,  whom  you  repre- 
sented as  a  man  of  more  than  common  accomplishments,  take 
any  pleasure  in  his  seraglio,  when  it  is  filled  only  with  women 
like  these"?  Are  they  exquisitely  beautiful  ?  " 

"They  do  not,"  said  Pekuah,  "want  that  unaffecting  and 
ignoble  beauty  which  may  subsist  without  sprightliness  or  sub- 
limity, without  energy  of  thought  or  dignity  of  virtue.  But  to 
a  man  like  the  Arab  such  beauty  was  o'nly  a  flower  casually 
plucked  and  carelessly  thrown  away.  Whatever  pleasures  he 
might  find  among  them,  they  were  not  those  of  friendship  or 
society.  When  they  were  playing  about  him,  he  looked  on 
them  with  inattentive  superiority;  when  they  vied  for  his 
regard,  he  sometimes  turned  away  disgusted.  As  they  had  no 
knowledge,  their  talk  could  take  nothing  from  the  tediousness 
of  life  ;  as  they  had  no  choice,  their  fondness,  or  appearance 
of  fondness,  excited  in  him  neither  pride  nor  gratitude :  he 
was  not  exalted  in  his  own  esteem  by  the  smiles  of  a  woman 
who  saw  no  other  man,  nor  was  much  obliged  by  that  regard, 
of  which  he  could  never  know  the  sincerity,  and  which  he 
might  often  perceive  to  be  exerted,  not  so  much  to  delight  him 


RASSELAS. 


79 


as  to  pain  a  rival.  That  which  he  gave,  and  they  received,  as 
love,  was  only  a  careless  distribution  of  superfluous  time,  such 
love  as  man  can  bestow  upon  that  which  he  despises,  such  as 
has  neither  hope  nor  fear,  neither  joy  nor  sorrow." 

"  You  have  reason,  lady,  to  think  yourself  happy,"  said 
Imlac,  "  that  you  have  been  thus  easily  dismissed.  How  could 
a  mind,  hungry  for  knowledge,  be  willing,  in  an  intellectual 
famine,  to  lose  such  a  banquet  as  Pekuah's  conversation  ?" 

"  I  am  inclined  to  believe,"  answered  Pekuah,  "  that  he 
was  for  some  time  in  suspense  ;  for  notwithstanding  his  prom- 
ise, whenever  I  proposed  to  despatch  a  messenger  to  Cairo,  he 
found  some  excuse  for  delay.  While  I  was  detained  in  his 
house  he  made  many  excursions  into  the  neighboring  coun- 
tries, and,  perhaps,  he  would  have  refused  to  discharge  me, 
had  his  plunder  been  equal  to  his  wishes.  He  returned  always 
courteous,  related  his  adventures,  delighted  to  hear  my  obser- 
vations, and  endeavored  to  advance  my  acquaintance  with 
the  stars.  When  I  importuned  him  to  send  away  my  letters, 
he  soothed  me  with  professions  of  honor  and  sincerity :  and, 
when  I  could  be  no  longer  decently  denied,  put  his  troop  again 
in  motion,  and  left  me  to  govern  in  his  absence.  I  was  much 
afflicted  by  this  studied  procrastination,  and  was  sometimes 
afraid  that  I  should  be  forgotten  ;  that  you  would  leave  Cairo, 
and  I  must  end  my  days  in  an  island  of  the  Nile. 

"  I  grew  at  last  hopeless  and  dejected,  and  cared  so  little 
to  entertain  him  that  he  for  a  while  more  frequently  talked 
with  my  maids.  That  he  should  fall  in  love  with  them,  or 
with  me,  might  have  been  equally  fatal,  and  I  was  not  much 
pleased  with  the  growing  friendship.  My  anxiety  was  not 
long ;  for,  as  I  recovered  some  degree  of  cheerfulness,  he 
returned  to  me.  and  I  could  not  forbear  to  despise  my  former 
uneasiness. 

"  He  still  delayed  to  send  for  my  ransom,  and  would,  per- 
haps, never  have  determined,  had  not  your  agent  found  his 
way  to  him.  The  gold,  which  he  would  not  fetch,  he  could 
not  reject  when  it  was  offered.  He  hastened  to  prepare  for 
our  journey  hither,  like  a  man  delivered  from  the  pain  of  an 
intestine  conflict.  I  took  leave  of  my  companions  in.  the 
house,  who  dismissed  me  with  cold  indifference." 

Nekayah,  having  heard  her  favorite's  relation,  rose  and 
embraced  her  ;  and  Rasselas  gave  her  a  hundred  ounces  of 
gold,  which  she  presented  to  the  Arab  for  the  fifty  tliat  were 
promised. 


go  JtASSELAS. 

CHAPTER  XL. 

The  History  of  a  Man  of  Learning. 

THEY  returned  to  Cairo,  and  were  so  well  pleased  at  find- 
ing themselves  together  that  none  of  them  went  much  abroad. 
The  prince  began  to  love  learning,  and  one  day  declared  to 
Imlac,  that  he  intended  to  devote  himself  to  science,  and  pass 
the  rest  of  his  days  in  literary  solitude. 

"  Before  you  make  your  final  choice,"  answered  Imlac, 
"  you  ought  to  examine  its  hazards,  and  converse  with  some  of 
those  who  are  grown  old  in  the  company  of  themselves.  \ 
have  just  left  the  observatory  of  one  of  the  most  learned  astron- 
omers in  the  world,  who  has  spent  forty  years  in  unwearied 
attention  to  the  motions  and  appearances  of  the  celestial 
bodies,  and  has  drawn  out  his  soul  in  endless  calculations.  He 
admits  a  few  friends  once  a  month  to  hear  his  deductions  and 
enjoy  his  discoveries.  I  was  introduced  as  a  man  of  knowl- 
edge worthy  of  his  notice.  Men  of  various  ideas  and  fluent 
conversation  are  commonly  welcome  to  those  whose  thoughts 
have  been  long  fixed  upon  a  single  point,  and  who  find  the 
images  of  other  things  stealing  away.  I  delighted  him  with 
my  remarks ;  he  smiled  at  the  narrative  of  my  travels  ;  and 
was  glad  to  forget  the  constellations,  and  descend  for  a  moment 
into  the  lower  world. 

"  On  the  next  day  of  vacation  I  renewed  my  visit,  and  was 
so  fortunate  as  to  please  him  again.  He  relaxed  from  that 
time  the  severity  of  his  rule,  and  permitted  me  to  enter  at  my 
own  choice.  I  found  him  always  busy,  and  always  glad  to  be 
relieved.  As  each  knew  much  which  the  other  was  desirous  of 
learning,  we  exchanged  our  notions  with  great  delight.  I  per- 
ceived that  I  had  every  day  more  of  his  confidence,  and  always 
found  new  cause  of  admiration  in  the  profundity  of  his  mind. 
His  comprehension  is  vast,  his  memory  capacious  and  retentive, 
his  discourse  is  methodical,  and  his  expression  clear. 

'  His  integrity  and  benevolence  are  equal  to  his  learning. 
His  deepest  researches  and  most  favorite  studies  are  willingly 
interrupted  for  an  opportunity  of  doing  good  by  his  counsel  or 
his  riches.  To  his  closest  retreat,  at  his  most  busy  moments, 
all  are  admitted  that  want  his  assistance  :  '  For,  though  I  ex- 
clude idleness  and  pleasure,  I  will  never,'  says  he,  '  bar  my 


RASSELAS.  8 1 

doors  against  charity.  To  man  is  permitted  the  contemplation 
of  the  skies,  but  the  practice  of  virtue  is  commanded.'  " 
"  Surely,"  said  the  princess,  "  this  man  is  happy." 
"  I  visited  him,"  said  Tmlac,  "  with  more  and  more  fre- 
quency, and  was  every  time  more  enamored  of  his  conversa- 
tion ;  he  was  sublime  without  haughtiness,  courteous  without 
formality,  and  communicative  without  ostentation.  I  was  at 
first,  great  princess,  of  your  opinion,  thought  him  the  happiest 
of  mankind,  and  often  congratulated  him  on  the  blessing  that 
he  enjoyed.  He  seemed  to  hear  nothing  with  indifference  but 
the  praises  of  his  condition,  to  which  he  always  returned  a 
general  answer,  and  diverted  the  conversation  to  some  other 
topic. 

"  Amidst  this  willingness  to  be -pleased  and  labor  to  please, 
I  had  quickly  reason  to  imagine  that  some  painful  sentiment 
pressed  upon  his  mind.  He  often  looked  up  earnestly  towards 
the  sun,  and  let  his  voice  fall  in  the  midst  of  his  discourse. 
He  would  sometimes,  when  we  were  alone,  gaze  upon  me  in 
silence  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  longed  to  speak  what  he  was 
yet  resolved  to  suppress.  He  would  often  send  for  me,  with 
vehement  injunctions  of  haste,  though,  when  I  came  to  him,  he 
had  nothing  extraordinary  to  say.  And  sometimes,  when  I 
was  leaving  him,  he  would  call  me  back,  nause  a  few  moments, 
and  then  dismiss  me." 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

The  Astronomer  discovers  the  cause  of  his  uneasiness. 

"  AT  last  the  time  came  when  the  secret  burst  his  reserve. 
We  were  sitting  together  last  night  in  the  turret  of  his  house, 
watching  the  emersion  of  a  satellite  of  Jupiter.  A  sudden 
tempest  clouded  the  sky,  and  disappointed  our  observation. 
We  sat  a  while  silent  in  the  dark,  and  then  he  addressed  him- 
self to  me  in  these  words  : — '  Imlac,  I  have  long  considered  thy 
friendship  as  the  greatest  blessing  of  my  life.  Integrity  with- 
out knowledge  is  weak  and  useless,  and  knowledge  without  in- 
tegrity is  dangerous  and  dreadful.  I  have  found  in  thee  all  the 
qualities  requisite  for  trust,  benevolence,  experience,  and  forti- 
tude. I  have  long  discharged  an  office  which  1  must  soon 
quit  at  the  call  of  nature,  and  shall  rejoice,  in  the  hour  of  im- 
becility and  pain, .to  devolve  it  upon  thee.' 

"  I  thought  myself  honored  by  this  testimony,  and  protested, 


82  RASSELAS. 

that  whatever  would  conduce  to  his  happiness  would  add  like- 
wise to  mine. 

"  Hear,  Imlac,  what  thou  wilt  not  without  difficulty  credit. 
I  have  possessed  for  five  years  the  regulation  of  the  weather 
and  the  distribution  of  the  seasons  ;  the  sun  has  listened  to  my 
dictates,  and  passed  from  tropic  to  tropic  by  my  direction  ; 
the  clouds,  at  my  call,  have  poured  their  waters,  and  the  Nile 
has  overflowed  at  my  command  ;  I  have  restrained  the  rage  of 
the  dog-star,  and  mitigated  the  fervors  of  the  crab.  The  winds 
alone,  of  all  the  elemental  powers,  have  hitherto  refused  my 
authority,  and  multitudes  have  perished  by  equinoctial  tempest, 
which  I  have  found  myself  unable  to  prohibit  or  restrain.  I 
have  administered  this  great  office  with  exact  justice,  and  made 
to  the  different  nations  of  the  earth  an  impartial  dividend  of 
rain  and  sunshine.  What  must  have  been  the  misery  of  half 
the  globe  if  I  had  limited  the  clouds  to  particular  regions,  or 
confined  the  sun  to  either  side  of  the  equator  ? ' " 


CHAPTER  XLI1. 

The  Opinion  of  the  Astronomer  is  explained  and  justified. 

"  I  SUPPOSE  he  discovered  in  me,  through  the  obscurity  of 
the  room,  some  tokens  of  amazement  and  doubt,  for,  after  a 
short  pause,  he  proceeded  thus  : 

"  '  Not  to  be  easily  credited  will  neither  surprise  nor  offend 
me ;  for  I  am,  probably,  the  first  of  human  beings  to  whom 
this  trust  has  been  imparted.  Nor  do  I  know  whether  to  deem 
the  distinction  a  reward  or  punishment ;  since  I  have  possessed 
it  I  have  been  far  less  happy  than  before,  and  nothing  but  the 
consciousness  of  good  intention  could  have  enabled  me  to 
support  the  weariness  of  unremitted  vigilance.' 

"  '  How  long,  sir,'  said  I,  '  has  this  great  office  been  in  your 
hands  ? ' 

"  -  About  ten  years  ago,'  said  he,  '  my  daily  observations  of 
the  changes  of  the  sky  led  me  to  consider  whether,  if  I  had 
the  power  of  the  seasons,  I  could  confer  greater  plenty  upon 
the  inhabitants  of  the  earth.  This  contemplation  fastened 
upon  my  mind,  and  I  sat  days  and  nights  in  imaginary 
dominion,  pouring  upon  this  country  and  that  the  showers  of 
fertility,  and  seconding  every  fall  of  rain  with  a  due  propor- 
tion of  sunshine.  I  had  yet  only  the  will  to  do  good,  and  did 
not  imagine  that  I  should  ever  have  the  power. 


RASSELAS.  83 

"  '  One  day,  as  I  was  looking  on  the  fields  withering  with 
heat,  I  felt  in  my  mind  a  sudden  wish  that  I  could  send  rain 
on  the  southern  mountains,  and  raise  the  Nile  to  an  inunda- 
tion. In  the  hurry  of  my  imagination  I  commanded  rain  to 
fall ;  and,  by  comparing  the  time  of  my  command  with  that  of 
the  inundation,  I  found  that  the  clouds  had  listened  to  my 
lips.' 

"  '  Might  not  some  other  cause,'  said  I,  'produce  this  con- 
currence ?  the  Nile  does  not  always  rise  on  the  same  day.' 

"  '  Do  not  believe,'  said  he  with  impatience,  '  that  such  ob- 
jections could  escape  me  :  I  reasoned  long  against  my  own 
conviction,  and  labored  against  truth  with  the  utmost  obstinacy. 
I  sometimes  suspected  myself  of  madness,  and  should  not 
have  dared  to  impart  this  secret  but  to  a  man  like  you,  capable 
of  distinguishing  the  wonderful  from  the  impossible,  and  the 
incredible  from  the  false.' 

"  '  Why,  sir,'  said  I,  '  do  you  call  that  incredible  which  you 
know,  or  think  you  know,  to  be  true  ? ' 

" '  Because,'  said  he,  '  I  cannot  prove  it  by  any  external 
evidence ;  and  I  know  too  well  the  laws  of  demonstration  to 
think  that  my  conviction  ought  to  influence  another,  who  can- 
not, like  me,  be  conscious  of  its  force.  I  therefore  shall  not 
attempt  to  gain  credit  by  disputation.  It  is  sufficient  that  I 
feel  this  power,  that  I  have  long  possessed,  and  every  day  ex- 
erted it.  But  the  life  of  man  is  short,  the  infirmities  of  age 
increase  upon  me,  and  the  time  will  soon  come  when  the  regu- 
lator of  the  year  must  mingle  with  the  dust.  The  care  of  ap- 
pointing a  successor  has  long  disturbed  me ;  the  night  and 
the  day  have  been  spent  in  comparisons  of  all  the  characters 
which  have  come  to  my  knowledge,  and  I  have  yet  found  none 
so  worthy  as  thyself.'  " 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

The  Astronomer  leaves  Imlac  his  directions. 

" '  HEAR,  therefore,  what  I  shall  impart  with  attention, 
such  as  the  welfare  of  a  world  requires.  If  the  task  of  a  king 
be  considered  as  difficult,  who  has  the  care  only  of  a  few  mil- 
lions, to  whom  he  cannot  do  much  good  or  harm,  what  must 
be  the  anxiety  of  him,  on  whom  depends  the  action  of  the 
elements,  and  the  great  gifts  of  light  and  heat  ? — Hear  me 
therefore  with  attention, 


84  RASSELAS. 

"  '  I  have  diligently  considered  the  position  of  the  earth 
and  sun,  and  formed  innumerable  schemes  in  which  I  changed 
their  situation.  I  have  sometimes  turned  aside  the  axis  of  the 
earth,  and  sometimes  varied  the  ecliptic  of  the  sun :  but  I 
have  found  it  impossible  to  make  a  disposition  by  which  the 
world  may  be  advantaged ;  what  one  region  gains  another 
loses  by  an  imaginable  alteration,  even  without  considering  the 
distant  parts  of  the  solar  system  with  which  we  are  acquainted. 
Do  not,  therefore,  in  thy  administration  of  the  year,  indulge 
thy  pride  by  innovation ;  do  not  please  thyself  with  thinking 
that  thou  canst  make  thyself  renowned  to  all  future  ages,  by 
disordering  the  seasons.  The  memory  of  mischief  is  no  de- 
sirable fame.  Much  less  will  it  become  thee  to  let  kindness  or 
interest  prevail.  Never  rob  other  countries  of  rain  to  pour  it 
on  thine  own.  For  us  the  Nile  is  sufficient.' 

"I  promised,  that  when  I  possessed  the  power,  I  would 
use  it  with  inflexible  integrity  ;  and  he  dismissed  me,  pressing 
my  hand.  '  My  heart,'  said  he,  '  will  be  now  at  rest,  and  my 
benevolence  will  no  more  destroy  my  quiet ;  I  have  found  a 
man  of  wisdom  and  virtue,  to  whom  I  can  cheerfully  bequeath 
the  inheritance  of  the  sun.'  " 

The  prince  heard  this  narration  with  very  serious  regard  ; 
but  the  princess  smiled,  and  Pekuah  convulsed  herself  with 
laughter.  "  Ladies,"  said  Imlac,  "  to  mock  the  heaviest  of 
human  afflictions  is  neither  charitable  nor  wise.  Few  can 
attain  this  man's  knowledge  and  .ew  practise  his  virtues  ;  but 
all  may  suffer  his  calamity.  Of  the  uncertainties  of  our 
present  state,  the  most  dreadful  and  alarming  is  the  uncertain 
continuance  of  reason." 

The  princess  was  recollected,  and  the  favorite  was  abashed. 
Rasselas,  more  deeply  affected,  inquired  of  Imlac,  whether  he 
thought  such  maladies  of  the  mind  frequent,  and  how  they 
were  contracted  ? 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

The  dangerous  prevalence  of  Imagination. 

"  DISORDERS  of  intellect,"  answered  Imlac,  "  happen  much 
more  often  than  superficial  observers  will  easily  believe.  Per- 
haps, if  we  speak  with  rigorous  exactness,  no  human  mind  is 
in  its  right  state.  There  is  no  man  whose  imagination  does  not 
sometimes  predominate  over  his  reason,  who  can  regulate  his  at- 


RASSELAS.  85 

tention  wholly  by  his  will,  and  whose  ideas  will  come  and  go  at 
his  command.  No  man  will  be  found  in  whose  mind  airy  no- 
tions do  not  sometimes  tyrannize,  and  force  him  to  hope  or 
fear  beyond  the  limits  of  sober  probability.  All  power  of 
fancy  over  reason  is  a  degree  of  insanity  ;  but  while  this  power 
is  such  as  we  can  control  and  repress,  it  is  not  visible  to  others, 
nor  considered  as  any  depravation  of  the  mental  faculties  :  It 
is  not  pronounced  madness  but  when  it  becomes  ungovernable, 
and  apparently  influences  speech  or  action. 

"  To  indulge  the  power  of  fiction,  and  send  imagination  out 
upon  the  wing,  is"  often  the  sport  of  those  who  delight  too  much 
in  silent  speculation.  When  we  are  alone  we  are  not  always 
busy ;  the  labor  of  excogitation  is  too  violent  to  last  long ;  the 
ardor  of  inquiry  will  sometimes  give  way  to  idleness  or  satiety. 
He  who  has  nothing  external  that  can  divert  him  must  find 
pleasure  in  his  own  thoughts,  and  must  conceive  himself  what 
he  is  not ;  for  who  is  pleased  with  what  he  is  ?  He  then  ex- 
patiates in  boundless  futurity,  and  culls  from  all  imaginable 
conditions  that  which  for  the  present  moment  he  should  most 
desire,  amuses  his  desires  with  impossible  enjoyments,  and 
confers  upon  his  pride  unattainable  dominion.  The  mind 
dances  from  scene  to  scene,  unites  all  pleasures  in  all  combina- 
tions, and  riots  in  delights  which  nature  and  fortune,  with  all 
their  bounty,  cannot  bestow. 

"  In  time  some  particular  train  of  ideas  fixes  the  attention ; 
all  other  intellectual  gratifications  are  rejected ;  the  mind,  in 
weariness  or  leisure,  recurs  constantly  to  the  favorite  concep- 
tion, and  feasts  on  the  luscious  falsehood  whenever  she  is 
offended  with  the  bitterness  of  truth.  By  degrees  the  reign  of 
fancy  is  confirmed ;  she  grows  first  imperious,  and  in  time  des- 
potic. Then  fictions  begin  to  operate  as  realities,  false  opin- 
ions fasten  upon  the  mind,  and  life  passes  in  dreams  of  rapture 
or  of  anguish. 

"This,  sir,  is  one  of  the  dangers  of  solitude,  which. the  her- 
mit has  confessed  not  always  to  promote  goodness,  and  the 
astronomer's  misery  has  proved  to  be  not  always  propitious  to 
wisdom." 

"  I  will  no  more,"  said  the  favorite,  "  imagine  myself  the 
queen  of  Abyssinia.  I  have  often  spent  the  hours,  which  the 
princess  gave  to  my  own  disposal,  in  adjusting  ceremonies  and 
regulating  the  court ;  I  have  repressed  the  pride  of  the  power- 
ful, and  granted  the  petitions  of  the  poor ;  I  have  built  new 
palaces  in  more  happy  situations,  planted  groves  upon  the  tops 
01  mountains,  and  nave  exulted  in  the  beneficence  of  royalty, 


86  -RASSELAS. 

till,  when  the  princess  entered,  I  had  almost  forgotten  to  bow 
down  before  her." 

"And  I,"  said  the  princess,  "will  not  allow  myself  any 
more  to  play  the  shepherdess  in  my  waking  'dreams.  I  have 
often  soothed  my  thoughts  with  the  quiet  and  innocence  of 
pastoral  employments,  till  I  have,  in  my  chamber,  heard  the 
winds  whistle  and  the  sheep  bleat :  sometimes  freed  the  lamb 
entangled  in  the  thicket,  and  sometimes  with  my  crook  encoun- 
tered the  wolf.  I  have  a  dress  like  that  of  the  village  maids, 
which  I  put  on  to  help  my  imagination,  and  a  pipe,  on  which  I 
play  softly,  and  suppose  myself  followed  by  my  flocks." 

"  I  will  confess,"  said  the  prince,  "  an  indulgence  of  fantas- 
tic delight  more  dangerous  than  yours.  I  have  frequently  en- 
deavored to  image  the  possibility  of  a  perfect  government,  by 
which  all  wrong  should  be  restrained,  all  vice  reformed,  and  all 
the  subjects  preserved  in  tranquillity  and  innocence.  This 
thought  produced  innumerable  schemes  of  reformation,  and  dic- 
tated many  useful  regulations  and  salutary  edicts.  This  has 
been  the  sport,  and  sometimes  the  labor,  of  my  solitude  ;  and 
I  start,  when  I  think  with  how  little  anguish  I  once  supposed 
the  death  of  my  father  and  my  brothers." 

"Such,"  says  Imlac,  "  are  the  effect  of  visionary  schemes. 
When  we  first  form  them  we  know  them  to  be  absurd,  but  fa- 
miliarize them  by  degrees,  and  in  time  lose  sight  of  their  folly." 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

They  Discourse  with  an  Old  Man. 

THE  evening  was  now  far  passed,  and  they  rose  to  return 
home.  As  they  walked  along  the  bank  of  the  Nile,  delighted 
with  the  beams  of  the  moon  quivering  on  the  water,  they  saw 
at  a  small  distance  an  old  man,  whom  the  prince  had  often 
heard  in  -the  assembly  of  the  sages.  "  Yonder,"  said  he,  "  is 
one  whose  years  have  calmed  his  passions,  but  not  clouded  his 
reason  :  let  us  close  the  disquisitions  of  the  night  by  inquiring 
what  are  his  sentiments  of  his  own  state,  that  we  may  know 
whether  youth  alone  is  to  struggle  with  vexation,  and  whether 
any  better  hope  remains  for  the  latter  part  of  life." 

Here  the  sage  approached  and  saluted  them.  They  in- 
vited him  to  join  their  walk,  and  prattled  a  while,  as  acquaint- 
ances that  had  unexpectedly  met  erne  another.  The  old  man 
was  cheerful  and  talkative,  and  the  way  seemed  short  in  his 


RASSELAS.  87 

company.  He  was  pleased  to  find  himself  not  disregarded, 
accompanied  them  to  their  house,  and,  at  the  prince's  request, 
entered  with  them.  They  placed  him  in  the  seat  of  honor,  and 
set  wine  and  conserves  before  him. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  princess,  "  an  evening  walk  must  give  to  a 
man  of  learning,  like  you,  pleasures  which  ignorance  and  youth 
can  hardly  conceive.  You  know  the  qualities  and  the  causes 
of  all  that  you  behold,  the  laws  by  which  the  river  flows,  the 
periods  in  which  the  planets  perform  their  revolutions.  Every- 
thing must  supply  you  with  contemplation}  and  renew  the  con- 
sciousness of  your  own  dignity." 

"  Lady,"  answered  he,  "  let  the  gay  and  the  vigorous  expect 
pleasure  in  their  excursions  ;  it  is  enough  that  age  can  obtain 
ease.  To  me  the  world  has  lost  its  novelty  :  I  look  round  and 
see  what  I  remember  to  have  seen  in  happier  days.  I  rest 
against  a  tree,  and  consider  that  in  the  same  shade  I  once  dis- 
puted upon  the  annual  overflow  of  the  Nile  with  a  friend  who 
is  now  silent  in  the  grave.  I  cast  my  eyes  upwards,  fix  them 
on  the  changing  moon,  and  think  with  pain  on  the  vicissitudes 
of  life.  I  have  ceased  to  take  much  delight  in  physical  truth  ; 
for  what  have  I  to  do  with  those  things  which  I  am  soon  to 
leave?" 

"  You  may  at  least  recreate  yourself,"  said  Imlac,  "  with  the 
recollection  of  an  honorable  and  useful  life,  and  enjoy  the 
praise  which  all  agree  to  give  you." 

"  Praise,"  said  the  sage,  with  a  sigh,  "  is  to  an  old  man  an 
empty  sound.  I  have  neither  mother  to  be  delighted  with  the 
reputation  of  her  son,  nor  wife  to  partake  the  honors  of  her 
husband.  I  have  outlived  my  friends  and  my  rivals.  Nothing 
is  now  of  much  importance ;  for  I  cannot  extend  my  interest 
beyond  myself.  Youth  is  delighted  with  applause,  because  it 
is  considered  as  the  earnest  of  some  future  good,  and  because 
the  prospect  of  life  is  far  extended  :  but  to  me,  who  am  now 
declining  to  decrepitude,  there  is  little  to  be  feared  from  the 
malevolence  of  men,  and  yet  less  to  be  hoped  from  the.ir  affec- 
tion or  esteem.  Something  they  may  yet  take  away,  but  they 
can  give  me  nothing.  Riches  would  now  be  useless,  and  high 
employment  would  be  pain.  My  retrospect  of  life  recalls  to 
my  view  many  opportunities  of  good  neglected,  much  time 
squandered  upon  trifles,  and  more  lost  in  idleness  and  vacancy. 
I  leave  many  great  designs  unattempted,  and  many  great  at- 
tempts unfinished.  My  mind  is  burdened  with  no  heavy  crime, 
and  therefore  I  compose  myself  to  tranquillity :  endeavor  to 
abstract  my  thoughts  from  hopes  and  cares,  which,  though  rea* 

1 6 


88  RASSELAS. ' 

son  knows  them  to  be  vain,  still  try  to  keep  their  old  possession 
of  the  heart ;  expect,  with  serene  humility,  that  hour  which  na- 
ture cannot  long  delay :  and  hope  to  possess,  in  a  better  state, 
that  happiness  which  here  I  could  not  find,  and  that  virtue 
which  here  I  have  not  attained." 

He  rose  and  went  away,  leaving  his  audience  not  much 
elated  with  the  hope  of  long  life.  The  prince  consoled  him- 
self with  remarking,  that  it  was  not  reasonable  to  be  disap- 
pointed by  this  account ;  forage  had  never  been  considered  as 
the  season  of  felicity  ;  and  if  it  was  possible  to  be  easy  in  de- 
cline and  weakness,  it  was  likely  that  the  days  of  vigor  and 
alacrity  might  be  happy :  that  the  noon  of  life  could  be  bright 
if  the  evening  could  be  calm. 

The  princess  suspected  that  age  was  querulous  and  malig- 
nant, and  delighted  to  repress  the  expectations  of  those  who 
had  newly  entered  the  world.  She  had  seen  the  possessors  of 
estates  look  with  envy  on  their  heirs,  and  known  many  who 
enjoyed  pleasure  no  longer  than  they  could  confine  it  to  them- 
selves. 

Pekuah  conjectured  that  the  man  was  older  than  he  ap- 
peared, and  was  willing  to  impute  his  complaints  to  delirious 
dejection  ;  or  else  supposed  that  he  had  been  unfortunate,  and 
was  therefore  discontented  ;  "  For  nothing,"  said  she,  "  is  more 
common  than  to  call  our  own  condition  the  condition  of  life." 

Imlac,  who  had  no  desire  to  see  them  depressed,  smiled  at 
the  comforts  which  they  could  so  readily  procure  to  themselves, 
and  remembered,  that  at  the  same  age  he  was  equally  confident 
of  unmingled  prosperity,  and  equally  fertile  of  consolatory  ex- 
pedients. He  forbore  to  force  upon  them  unwelcome  knowl- 
edge, which  time  itself  would  too  soon,  impress.  The  princess 
and  her  lady  retired  ;  the  madness  of  the  astronomer  hung  upon 
their  minds,  and  they  desired  Imlac  to  enter  upon  his  office, 
and  delay  next  morning  the  rising  of  the  sun. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

The  Princess  and  Pekuah  visit  the  Astronomer. 

THE  princess  and  Pekuah,  having  talked  in  private  of  Imlac'* 
gstrono  net,  thought  his  character  at  once  so  amiable  and  so 
strange  th<*t  they  could  not  be  satisfied  without  a  nearer  knowl- 
edge j  and  Imlac  was  requested  to  find  the  means  of  bringing 
together, 


RASSELAS.  g^ 

i 

This  was  somewhat  difficult  ;  the  philosopher  had  never 
received  any  visits  from  women,  though  he  lived  in  a  city  that 
had  in  it  many  Europeans,  who  followed  the  manners  of  their 
own  countries,  and  many  from  other  parts  of  the  world,  that 
lived  there  with  European  liberty.  The  ladies  would  not  be 
refused,  and  several  schemes  were  proposed  for  the  accom- 
plishment of  their  design.  It  was  proposed  to  introduce  them 
as  strangers  in  distress,  to  whom  the  sage  was  always  acces- 
sible ;  but,  after  some  deliberation,  it  appeared  that  by  this 
artifice  no  acquaintance  could  be  formed,  for  their  conversation 
would  be  short,  and  they  could  not  decently  importune  him 
often.  "This/'  said  Rasselas,  "is  true;  but  I  have  yet  a 
stronger  objection  against  the  misrepresentation  of  your  state. 
I  have  always  considered  it  as  treason  against  the  great  repub- 
lic of  human  nature  to  make  any  man's  virtues  the  means  of 
deceiving  him,  whether  on  great  or  little  occasions.  All  im- 
posture weakens  confidence  and  chills  benevolence.  When  the 
sage  finds  that  you  are  not  what  you  seemed,  he  will  feel  the 
resentment  natural  to  a  man  who,  conscious  of  great  abilities, 
discovers  that  he  has  been  tricked  by  understandings  meaner 
than  his  awn  ;  and,  perhaps,  the  distrust,  which  he  can  never 
afterwards  \vhol"y  lay  aside,  may  stop  the  voice  of  counsel  and 
close  the  hand  of  charity  ;  and  where  will  you  find  the  power 
of  restoring  his  benefactions  to  mankind  or  his  peace  to  him- 
self ? " 

To  this  no  reply  was  attempted,  and  Imlac  began  to  hope 
that  their  curiosity  would  subside  ;  but,  next  day,  Pekuah  told 
him,  she  had  now  found  an  honest  pretence  for  a  visit  to  the 
astronomer,  for  she  would  solicit  permission  to  continue  under 
him  the  studies  in  which  she  had  been  initiated  by  the  Arab, 
and  the  princess  might  go  with  her  either  as  a  fellow-student, 
or  because  a  woman  could  not  decently  coma  alone.  "  I  am 
afraid,"  said  Imlac,  "that  he  will  be  soon  weary  of  your  com- 
pany ;  men  advanced  far  in  knowledge  do  not  love  to  repeat 
the  elements  of  their  art,  and  I  am  not  certain  that  even  of  the 
elements,  as  he  will  deliver  them  connected  with  inferences  and 
mingled  with  reflections,  you  are  a  very  capable  auditress." — 
"  That,"  said  Pekuah,  "  must;  be  my  care  ;  I  ask  of  you  only 
to  take  me  thither.  My  knowledge  is,  perhaps,  more  than  you 
imagine  it ;  and,  by  concurring  always  with  his  opinions,  I  shall 
make  him  think  it  greater  than  it  is." 

The  astronomer,  in  pursuance  of  this  resolution,  was  told 
that  a  foreign  lady,  travelling  in  search  of  knowledge,  had 
heard  of  his  reputation,  and  was  desirous  to  become  his  scholar. 


go  RASSELAS. 

The  uncommonness  of  the  proposal  raised  at  once  his  surprise 
and  curiosity  :  and  when,  after  a  short  deliberation,  he  consented 
to  admit  her,  he  could  not  stay  without  impatience  till  the  next 
day. 

The  ladies  dressed  themselves  magnificently,  and  were  at- 
tended by  Imlac  to  the  astronomer,  who  was  pleased  to  see 
himself  approached  with  respect  by  persons  of  so  splendid  an 
appearance.  In  the  exchange  of  the  first  civilities  he  was 
timorous  and  bashful  ;  but  when  the  talk  became  regular,  he 
recollected  his  powers,  and  justified  the  character  which  Imlac 
had  given.  Inquiring  of  Pekuah,  what  could  have  turned  her 
inclination  towards  astronomy  ?  he  received  from  her  a  history 
of  her  adventure  at  the  pyramid,  and  of  the  time  passed  in  the 
Arab's  island.  She  told  her  tale  with  ease  and  elegance,  and 
her  conversation  took  possession  of  his  heart.  The  discourse 
was  then  turned  to  astronomy  :  Pekuah  displayed  what  she 
knew :  he  looked  upon  her  as  a  prodigy  of  genius,  and  en- 
treated her  not  to  desist  from  a  study  which  she  had  so  happily 
begun. 

They  came  again  and  again,  and  were  every  time  more  wel- 
come than  before.  The  sage  endeavored  to  amuse  them,  that 
they  might  prolong  their  visits,  for  he  found  his  thoughts  grow 
brighter  in  their  company ;  the  clouds  of  solicitude  vanished 
by  degrees,  as  he  forced  himself  to  entertain  them  ;  and  he 
grieved  when  he  was  left  at  their  departure  to  his  old  employ- 
ment of  regulating  the  seasons. 

The  princess  and  her  favorite  had  now  watched  his  lips  for 
several  months,  and  could  not  catch  a  single  word  from  which 
they  could  judge  whether  he  continued,  or  not,  in  the  opinion 
of  his  preternatual  commission.  They  often  contrived  to  bring 
him  to  an  open  declaration  :  but  he  easily  eluded  all  their 
attacks,  and  on  which  side  soever  they  pressed  him  escaped 
from  them  to  some  other  topic. 

As  their  familiarity;  increased,  they  invited  him  often  to  the 
house  of  Imlac,  where  they  distinguished  him  by  extraordinary 
respect.  He  began  gradually  to  delight  in  sublunary  pleasures. 
He  came  early,  and  departed  late  ;  labored  to  recommend 
himself  by  assiduity  and  compliance ;  excited  their  curiosity 
after  new  arts,  that  they  might  still  want  his  assistance ;  and 
when  they  made  any  excursion  of  pleasure  or  inquiry,  entreated 
to  attend  them. 

By  long  experience  of  his  integrity  and  wisdom,  the  prince 
and  his  sister  were  convinced  that  he  might  be  trusted  without 
danger ;  and,  lest  he  should  draw  any  false  hopes  from  the 


RASSELAS.  gi 

civilities  which  he  received,  discovered  to  him  their  condition, 
with  the  motives  of  their  journey ;  and  required  his  opinion  on 
the  choice  of  life. 

"  Of  the  various  conditions  which  the  world  spreads  before 
you,  which  you  shall  prefer,"  said  the  sage,  "  I  am  not  able  to 
instructyou.  I  can  only  tell  that  I  have  chosen  wrong.  I  have 
passed  my  time  in  study  without  experience  ;  in  the  attainment 
of  sciences  which  can,  for  the  most  part,  be  but  remotely  use- 
ful to  mankind.  I  have  purchased  knowledge  at  the  expense 
of  all  the  common  comforts  of  life  ;  T  have  missed  the  endear- 
ing elegance  of  female  friendship,  and  the  happy  commerce  of 
domestic  tenderness.  If  I  have  obtained  any  prerogatives 
above  other  students,  they  have  been  accompanied  with  fear, 
disquiet,  and  scrupulosity :  but  even  of  these  prerogatives, 
whatever  they  were,  I  have,  since  my  thoughts  have  been  diver- 
sified by  more  intercourse  with  the  world,  begun  to  question 
the  reality.  When  I  have  been  for  a  few  days  lost  in  pleasing 
dissipation,  I  am  always  tempted  to  think  that  my  inquiries 
have  ended  in  error,  and  that  I  have  suffered  much,  and  suf- 
fered it  in  vain." 

Imlac  was  delighted  to  find  that  the  sage'/s  understanding 
was  breaking  through  its  mists,  and  resolved  to  detain  him  from 
the  planets  till  he  should  forget  his  task  of  ruling  them,  and 
reason  should  recover  its  original  influence. 

From  this  time  the  astronomer  was  received  into  familiar 
friendship,  and  partook  of  all  their  projects  and  pleasures  :  his 
respect  kept  him  attentive,  and  the  activity  of  Rasselas  did 
not  leave  much  time  unengaged.  Something  was  always  to  be 
done  ;  the  day  was  spent  in  making  observations,  which  fur- 
nished talk  for  the  evening,  and  the  evening  was  closed  with  a 
scheme  for  the  morrow. 

The  sage  confessed  to  Imlac,  that  since  he  had  mingled  in 
the  gay  tumults  of  life,  and  divided  his  hours  by  a  succession 
of  amusements,  he  found  the  conviction  of  his  authority  over 
the  skies  fade  gradually  from  his  mind,  and  began  to  trust  less 
to  an  opinion  which  he  never  could  prove  to  others,  and  which 
he  now  found  subject  to  variation,  from  causes  in  which  reason 
had  no  part.  "  If  I  am  accidentally  left  alone  for  a  few  hours," 
said  he,  "  my  inveterate  persuasion  rushes  upon  my  soul,  and 
my  thoughts  are  chained  down  by  some  irresistible  violence  ; 
but  they  are  soon  disentangled  by  the  prince's  conversation, 
and  instantaneously  released  at  the  entrance  of  Pekuah.  I  am 
like  a  man  habitually  afraid  of  spectres,  who  is  set  at  ease  by  a 
lamp,  and  wonders  at  the  dread  which  harassed  him  in  the 


$2  XASSELAS. 

dark  ;  yet,  if  his  lamp  be  extinguished,  feels  again  the  terrors 
which  he  knows  that  when  it  is  light  he  shall  feel  no  more. 
But  I  am  sometimes  afraid  lest  I  indulge  my  quiet  by  criminal 
negligence,  and  voluntarily  forget  the  great  charge  with  which 
I  am  intrusted.  If  I  favor  myself  in  a  known  error,  or  am  de- 
termined by  my  own  ease  in  a  doubtful  question  of  this  import- 
ance, how  dreadful  is  my  crime  !  " 

"  No  disease  of  the  imagination,"  answered  Imlac,  "is  so 
difficult  of  cure  as  that  which  is  complicated  with  the  dread  of 
guilt :  fancy  and  conscience  then  act  interchangeably  upon  us, 
and  so  often  shift  their  places  that  the  illusions  of  one  are  not 
distinguished  from  the  dictates  of  "the  other.  If  fancy  presents 
images  not  moral  or  religious,  the  mind  drives  them  away  when 
they  give  it  pain  ;  but  when  melancholic  notions  take  the  form 
of  duty,  they  lay  hold  on  the  faculties  without  opposition,  be- 
cause we  are  afraid  to  exclude  or  banish  them.  For  this  rea- 
son the  superstitious  are  often  melancholy,  and  the  melancholy 
almost  always  superstitious. 

"  But  do  not  let  the  suggestions  of  timidity  overpower  your 
better  reason  :  the  danger  of  neglect  can  be  but  as  the  proba- 
bility of  the  obligation,  which,  when  you  consider  it  with  free- 
dom, you  find  very  little,  and  that  little  growing  every  day  less. 
Open  your  heart  to  the  influence  of  the  light  which,  from  time 
to  time,  breaks  in  upon  you  :  when  scruples  importune  you, 
which  you  in  your  lucid  moments  know  to  be  vain,  do  not  stand 
to  parley,  but  fly  to  business  or  to  Pekuah,  and  keep  this 
thought  always  prevalent,  that  you  are  only  one  atom  of  the 
mass  of  humanity,  and  have  neither  such  virtue  nor  vice  as  that 
you  should  be  singled  out  for  supernatural  favors  or  afflictions." 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

The  Prince,  enters,  and  brings  a  New  Topic. 

"  ALL  this,"  said  the  astronomer,  "  I  have  often  thought, 
but  my  reason  has  been  so  long  subjugated  by  an  uncontrol- 
lable and  overwhelming  idea  that  it  durst  not  confide  in  its  own 
decisions.  I  now  see  how  fatally  I  betray  my  quiet,  by  suffer- 
ing chimeras  to  prey  upon  me  in  secret;  but  melancholy  shrinks 
from  communication,  and  I  never  found  a  man  before  to  whom 
I  could  impart  my  troubles,  though  I  had  been  certain  of  relief. 
I  rejoice  to  find  my  own  sentiments  confirmed  by  yours,  who 
are  not  easily  deceived,  and  can  have  no  motive  or  purpose  to 


XASSELAS.  93 

deceive.  I  hope  that  time  and  variety  will  dissipate  the  gloom 
that  has  so  long  surrounded  me,  and  the  latter  part  of  my  days 
will  be  spent  in  peace." 

"  Your  learning  and  virtue,"  said  Imlac,  "  may  justly  give 
you  hopes." 

Rasselas  then  entered  with  the  princess  and  Pekuah,  and 
inquired  whether  they  had  contrived  any  new  diversion  for  the 
next  day  ?  "  Such,"  said  Nekayah,  "  is  the  state  of  life,  that 
none  are  happy  but  by  the  anticipation  of  change  :  the  change 
itself  is  nothing ;  when  we  have  made  it,  the  next  wish  is  to 
change  again.  The  world  is  not  yet  exhausted  ;  let  me  see 
something  to-morrow  which  I  never  saw  before." 

"Variety,"  said  Rasselas,  *  is  so  necessary  to  content,  that 
even  the  happy  valley  disgusted  me  by  the  recurrence  of  its 
luxuries  yet  I  could  not  forbear  to  reproach  myself  with  impa- 
tience when  I  saw  the  monks  of  St.  Anthony  support,  without 
complaint,  a  life,  not  of  uniform  delight,  but  uniform  hardship." 

"  Those  men,"  answered  Imlac,  "  are  less  wretched  in  their 
silent  convent  than  the  Abyssinian  princes  in  their  prison  of  pleas- 
ure. Whatever  is  done  by  the  monks  is  incited  by  an  adequate 
and  reasonable  motive.  Their  labor  supplies  them  with  neces- 
saries ;  it  therefore  cannot  be  omitted,  and  is  certainly  rewarded. 
Their  devotion  prepares  them  for  another  state,  and  reminds  them 
of  its  approach  while  it  fits  them  for  it.  Their  time  is  regularly 
distributed  :  one  duty  succeeds  another,  so  that  they  are  not  left 
open  to  the  distraction  of  unguided  choice,  nor  lost  in  the  shades 
of  listless  inactivity.  There  is  a  certain  task  to  be  performed  at 
an  appropriated  hour ;  and  their  toils  are  cheerful  because  they 
consider  them  as  acts  of  piety,  by  which  they  are  always  advan- 
cing towards  endless  felicity." 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  Nekayah,  "  that  the  monastic  rule  is  a 
more  holy  and  less  imperfect  state  than  any  other  ?  May  not  he 
equally  hope  for  future  happiness  who  converses  openly  with 
mankind,  who  succors  the  distressed  by  his  charity,  instructs 
the  ignorant  by  his  learning,  and  contributes  by  his  industry  to 
the  general  system  of  life  ;  even  though  he  should  omit  some  of 
the  mortifications  which  are  practised  in  the  cloister,  and  allow 
himself  such  harmless  delights  as  his  condition  may  place  within 
his  reach  ? " 

"This,"  said  Imlac,  "  is  a  question  which  has  long  divided 
the  wise  and  perplexed  the  good.  I  am  afraid  to  decide  on  either 
part.  He  that  lives  well  in  the  world  is  better  than  he  that  lives 
well  in  a  monastery.  But,  perhaps,  every  one  is  not  able  to  stem 
the  temptations  of  public  life  ;  and  if  he  cannot  conquer,  he  may 


94  KASSELAS. 

properly  retreat.  Some  have  little  power  to  do  good,  and  have 
likewise  little  strength  to  resist  evil.  Many  are  weary  of  their 
conflicts  with  adversity,  and  are  willing  to  eject  those  passions 
which  have  long  busied  them  in  vain.  And  many  are  dismissed 
by  age  and  diseases  from  the  moro  laborious  duties  of  society. 
In  monasteries  the  weak  and  timorous  may  be  happily  sheltered, 
the  weary  may  repose,  and  the  penitent  may  meditate.  Those 
retreats  of  prayer  and  contemplation  have  something  so  con- 
genial to  the  mind  of  man  that,  perhaps,  there  is  scarcely  one  that 
does  not  purpose  to  close  his  life  in  pious  abstraction  with  a  few 
associates  serious  as  himself." 

"  Such,"  said  Pekuah,  "  has  often  been  my  wish,  and  I  have 
heard  the  princess  declare,  that  she  should  not  willingly  die  in 
a  crowd." 

"The  liberty  of  using  harmless  pleasure,"  proceeded  Imlac, 
"  will  not  be  disputed  ;  but  it  is  still  to  be  examined  what  pleas- 
ures are  harmless.  The  evil  of  any  pleasure  that  Nekayah  can 
imagine  is  not  in  the  act  itself,  but  in  its  consequences.  Pleas- 
ure, in  itself  harmless,  may  become  mischievous  by  endearing 
us  to  a  state  which  we  know  to  be  transient  and  probatory,  and 
withdrawing  our  thoughts  from  that  of  which  every  hour  brings 
us  nearer  to  the  beginning,  and  of  which  no  length  of  time  will 
bring  us  to  the  end.  Mortification  is  not  virtuous  in  itself,  nor 
has  any  other  use  but  that  it  disengages  us  from  allurements  of 
sense.  In  the  state  of  future  perfection,  to  which  we  all  aspire, 
there  will  be  pleasure  without  danger,  and  security  without  re- 
straint." 

The  princess  was  silent,  and  Rasselas,  turning  to  the  astron- 
omer, asked  him  "  whether  he  could  not  delay  her  retreat  by 
showing  her  something  which  she  had  not  seen  before  ? " 

"  Your  curiosity,"  said  the  sage,  "  has  been  so  general,  and 
your  pursuit  of  knowledge  so  vigorous,  that  novelties  are  not 
now  very  easily  to  be  found ;  but  what  you*can  no  longer  pro- 
cure from  the  living  may  be  given  by  the  dead.  Among  the 
wonders  of  this  country  are  the  Catacombs,  or  the  ancient  re- 
positories in  which  the  bodies  of  the  earliest  generations  were 
lodged,  and  where,  by  the  virtue  of  the  gums  which  embalmed 
them,  they  yet  remain  without  corruption." 

"  I  know  not,"  said  Rasselas,  "  what  pleasure  the  sight  of 
the  Catacombs  can  afford ;  but,  since  nothing  else  is  offered,  I 
am  resolved  to  view  them,  and  shall  place  this  with  many  other 
things  which  I  have  done  because  I  would  do  something." 

They  hired  a  guard  of  horsemen,  and  the  next  day  visited 
the  Catacombs.  When  they  were  about  to  descend  into  the 


RASSELAS.  95 

sepulchral  caves,  "  Pekuah,"  said  the  princess,  we  are  now  again 
invading  the  habitations  of  the  dead ;  I  know  that  you  will  stay 
behind  ;  let  me  find  you  safe  when  I  return." — "  No  ;  I  will  not 
be  left,"  answered  Pekuah,  "  I  will  go  down  between  you  and 
the  prince." 

They  then  all  descended,  and  roved  with  wonder  through 
the  labyrinth  of  subterraneous  passages,  where  the  bodies  were 
laid  in  rows  on  either  side. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

Imlac  discourses  on  the  Nature  of  the  Soul. 

"WHAT  reason,"  said  the  prince,  "can  be  given  why  the 
Egyptians  should  thus  expensively  preserve  those  carcasses 
which  some  nations  consume  with  fire,  others  lay  to  mingle 
with  the  earth,  and  all  agree  to  remove  from  their  sight  as  soon 
as  decent  rites  can  bejjerformed?" 

"  The  original  ancient  custom,"  said  Imlac,  "  is  commonly 
unknown ;  for  the  practice  often  continues  when  the  cause  has 
ceased  ;  and  concerning  superstitious  ceremonies  it  is  vain  to 
conjecture  ;  for  what  reason  did  not  dictate,  reason  cannot  ex- 
plain. I  have  long  believed  that  the  practice  of  embalming 
arose  only  from  tenderness  to  the  remains  of  relations  or  friends, 
and  to  this  opinion  I  am  more  inclined  because  it  seems  impos- 
sible that  this  care  should  have  been  general :  had  all  the  dead 
been  embalmed,  their  repositories  must  in  time  have  been  more 
spacious  than  the  dwellings  of  the  living.  I  suppose  only  the 
rich  or  honorable  were  secured  from  corruption,  and  the  rest 
left  to  the  course  of  nature. 

"  But  it  is  commonly  supposed  that  the  Egyptians  believed 
the  soul  to  live  as  long  as  the  body  continued  undissolved,  and 
therefore  tried  this  method  of  eluding  death." 

"  Could  the  wise  Egyptians,"  said  Nekayah,  "  think  so  grossly 
of  the  soul  ?  If  the  soul  could  once  survive  its  separation,  what 
could  it  afterwards  receive  or  suffer  from  the  body  ? " 

"The  Egyptians  would  doubtless  think  erroneously,"  said 
the  astronomer,  "  in  the  darkness  of  heathenism,  and  the  first 
dawn  of  philosophy.  The  nature  of  the  soul  is  still  disputed 
amidst  all  our  opportunities  of  clearer  knowledge :  some  yet 
say  that  it  may  be  material,  who  nevertheless  believe  it  to  be 
immortal." 

"  Some,"  answered  Imlac,  "  have  indeed  said  that  the  soul 


y  RASSELAS. 

is  material,  but  I  can  scarcely  believe  that  any  man  has  thought 
it,  who  knew  how  to  think  ;  for  all  the  conclusions  of  reason 
enforce  the  immateriality  of  mind,  and  all  the  notices  of  sense 
and  investigations  of  science  concur  to  prove  the  unconscious- 
ness of  matter. 

"  It  was  never  supposed  that  cogitation  is  inherent  in  mat- 
ter, or  that  every  particle  is  a  thinking  being.  Yet,  if  any 
part  of  matter  be  devoid  of  thought,  what  part  can  we  suppose 
'to  think  ?  Matter  can  differ  from  matter  only  in  form,  density, 
bulk,  motion,  and  direction  of  motion  :  to  which  of  these,  how- 
ever varied  or  combined,  can  consciousness  be  annexed  ?  To 
be  round  or  square,  to  be  solid  or  fluid,  to  be  great  or  little,  to 
be  moved  slowly  or  swiftly  one  way  or  another,  are  modes  of 
material  existence,  all  equally  alien  from  the  nature  cf  cogita- 
tion. If  matter  be  once  without  thought,  it  can  only  be  made 
to  think  by  some  new  modification,  but  all  the  modifications 
which  it  can  admit  are  equally  unconnected  with  cogitative 
powers." 

"But  the  materialists,"  said  the  astronomer,  "urge  that 
matter  may  have  qualities  with  which  we  are  unacquainted." 

"  He  who  will  determine,"  returned  Imlac,  "  against  that 
which  he  knows,  because  there  may  be  something  which  he 
knows  not:  he  that  can  set  hypothetical  possibility  against 
acknowledged  certainty,  is  not  to  be  admitted  among  reason- 
able beings.  All  that  we  know  of  matter  is,  that  matter  is 
inert,  senseless,  and  lifeless ;  and  if  this  conviction  cannot  be 
opposed  but  by  referring  us  to  something  that  we  know  not,  we 
have  all  the  evidence  that  human  intellect  can  admit.  If  that 
which  is  known  may  be  overruled  by  that  which  is  unknown, 
no  being,  not  omniscient,  can  arrive  at  certainty." 

"  Yet  let  us  not,"  said  the  astronomer,  "  too  arrogantly 
limit  the  Creator's  power." 

"  It  is  no  limitation  of  omnipotence,"  replied  the  poet,  "  to 
suppose  that  one  thing  is  not  consistent  with  another,  that  the 
same  proposition  cannot  be  at  once  true  and  false,  that  the 
same  number  cannot  be  even  and  odd,  that  cogitation  cannot 
be  conferred  on  that  which  is  created  incapable  of  cogitation." 

"  I  know  not,''  said  Nekayah,  "any  great  use  of  this  ques- 
tion.    Does   that   immateriality,  which,   in   my   opinion,   you 
'  have  sufficiently  proved,  necessarily  include  eternal  duration  ? " 

"  Of  immateriality,"  said  Imlac,  "  our  ideas  are  negative, 
and  therefore  obscure.  Immateriality  seems  to  imply  a 
natural  power  tf  perpetual  duration  as  a  consequence  of  ex- 
emption from  all  causes  of  decay  :  whatever  perishes  is 


RASSELAS.  97 

destroyed  by  the  solution  of  its  contexture,  and  separation  of 
its  parts  ;  nor  can  we  conceive  how  that  which  has  no  parts, 
and  therefore  admits  no  solution,  can  be  naturally  corrupted 
or  impaired." 

"  I  know  not,"  said  Rasselas,  "  how  to  conceive  anything 
without  extension  ;  what  is  extended  must  have  parts,  and  you 
allow  that  whatever  has  parts  may  be  destroyed." 

"  Consider  your  own  conceptions,"  replied  Imlac,  "  and  the 
difficulty  will  be  less.  You  will  find  substance  without  ex- 
tension. An  ideal  form  is  no  less  real  than  material  bulk: 
yet  an  ideal  form  has  no  extension.  It  is  no  less  certain,  when 
you  think  on  a  pyramid,  that  your  mind  possesses  the  idea  of 
a  pyramid  than  that  the  pyramid  itself  is  standing.  What 
space  does  the  idea  of  a  pyramid  occupy  more  than  the  idea  of 
a  grain  of  corn  ?  or  how  can  either  idea  suffer  laceration  ?  As 
is  the  effect,  such  is  the  cause  :  as  thought,  such  is  the  power 
that  thinks  ;  a  power  impassive  and  indiscerptible." 

"  But  the  Being,"  said  Nekayah,  "  whom  I  fear  to  name, 
the  Being  which  made  the  soul,  can  destroy  it." 

"  He  surely  can  destroy  it,"  answered  Imlac,  "  since,  how- 
ever unperishable,  it  receives  from  a  superior  nature  its  power 
of  duration.  That  it  will  not  perish  by  any  inherent  cause  of 
decay,  or  principle  of  corruption,  may  be  shown  by  philosophy ; 
but  philosophy  can  tell  no  more.  That  it  will  not  be  annihi- 
lated by  him  that  made  it,  we  must  humbly  learn  from  higher 
authority."  The  whole  assembly  stood  a  while  silent  and  col- 
lected. "Let  us  return,"  said  Rasselas,  "from  this  scene  of 
mortality.  How  gloomy  would  be  these  mansions  of  the  dead 
to  him  who  did  not  know  that  he  should  never  die,  that  what 
now  acts  shall  continue  its  agency,  and  what  now  thinks  shall 
think  on  forever.  Those  that  lie  here  stretched  before  us,  the 
wise  and  the  powerful  of  ancient  times,  warn  us  to  remember 
the  shortness  of  our  present  state:  they  were,  perhaps,  snatched 
away  while  they  were  busy  like  us  in  the  choice  of  life." 

"  To  me,"  said  the  princess,  "  the  choice  of  life  is  become 
less  important ;  I  hope  hereafter  to  think  only  on  the  choice 
of  eternity." 

They  then  hastened  out  of  the  caverns  and  under  the 
protection  of  their  guard  returned  to  Cairo. 

7 


KASSELAS. 


CHAPTER    XLIX. 

The  Conclusion,  in  which  nothing  is  Concluded. 

IT  was  now  the  time  of  the  inundation  of  the  Nile :  a  few 
days  after  their  visit  to  the  Catacombs  the  river  began  to  rise. 

They  were  confined  to  their  house.  The  whole  region 
being  under  water  gave  them  no  invitation  to  any  excursions, 
and  being  well  supplied  with  materials  for  talk,  they  diverted 
themselves  with  comparisons  of  the  different  forms  of  life 
which  they  had  observed,  and  with  various  schemes  of  happi- 
ness which  each  of  them  had  formed. 

Pekuah  was  never  so  much  charmed  with  any  place  as  the 
convent  of  St.  Anthony,  where  the  Arab  restored  her  to  the 
princess,  and  wished  only  to  fill  it  with  pious  maidens,  and  to 
be  made  prioress  of  the  order  ;  she  was  weary  of  expectation 
and  disgust,  and  would  gladly  be  fixed  in  some  unvariable 
state. 

The  princess  thought,  that  of  all  sublunary  things  knowl- 
edge was  the  best :  she  desired  first  to  learn  all  sciences,  and 
then  proposed  to  found  a  college  of  learned  women,  in  which 
she  would  preside,  that,  by  conversing  with  the  old,  and 
educating  the  young,  she  might  divide  her  time  between  the 
acquisition  and  communication  of  wisdom,  and  raise  up  for  the 
next  age,  models  of  prudence,  and  patterns  of  piety. 

The  prince  desired  a  little  kingdom,  in  which  he  might 
administer  justice  in  his  own  person,  and  see  all  the  parts  of 
government  with  his  own  eyes  ;  but  he  could  never  fix  the 
limits  of  his  dominion,  and  was  always  adding  to  the  number 
of  his  subjects. 

Imlac  and  the  astronomer  were  contented  to  be  driven 
along  the  stream  of  life,  without  directing  their  course  to  any 
particular  port. 

Of  these  wishes  that  they  had  formed  they  well  knew  that 
none  could  be  obtained.  They  deliberated  a  while  what  was 
to  be  done,  and  resolved,  when  the  inundation  should  cease,  to 
return  to  Abyssinia. 

THE    END. 


THE 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD: 


A.    X.A.LE, 


BY   OLIVER   GOLDSMITH,   M.B. 


ILLUSTRATED. 


NEW  YORK: 

JOHN    WURTELE    LOVELL, 
14  &  16  ASTOR  PLACE. 


CHARACTERISTICS 


OF 


GOLDSMITH'S     WRITINGS. 


THE  "  Vicar  of  Wakefield  "  has  long  been  considered  one 
of  the  most  interesting  tales  in  our  language.  It  is  seldom  that 
a  story  presenting  merely  a  picture  of  common  life,  and  a  detail 
of  domestic  events,  so  powerfully  affects  the  reader.  The 
irresistible  charm  this  novel  possesses,  evinces  how  much  may 
be  done,  without  the  aid  of  extravagant  incident,  to  excite  the 
imagination  and  interest  the  feelings.  Few  productions  of  the 
kind  afford  greater  amusement  in  the  perusal,  and  still  fewer 
inculcate  more  impressive  lessons  of  morality.  Though  wit 
and  humor  abound  in  every  page,  yet  in  the  whole  volume 
there  is  not  one  thought  injurious  in  its  tendency,  nor  one 
sentiment  that  can  offend  the  chastest  ear.  Its  language,  in 
the  words  of  an  elegant  writer,  is  what. "  angels  might  have 
heard  and  virgins  told."  In  the  delineation  of  his  characters, 
in  the  conduct  of  his  fable,  and  in  the  moral  of  the  piece,  the 
genius  of  the  author  is  equally  conspicuous.  The  hero  displays 
with  unaffected  simplicity  the  most  striking  virtues  that  can 
adorn  social  life  ;  sincere  in  his  professions,  humane  and  gen- 
erous in  his  disposition,  he  is  himself  a  pattern  of  the  character 
he  represents.  The  other  personages  are  drawn  with  similar 
discrimination.  Each  is  distinguished  by  some  peculiar  feature ; 
and  the  general  grouping  of  the  whole  has  this  particular  excel- 
lence, that  not  one  could  be  wanted  without  injuring  the  unity 
and  beauty  of  the  design.  The  drama  of  the  tale  is  also  man- 
aged with  equal  skill  and  effect.  There  are  no  extravagant 
incidents,  and  no  forced  or  improbable  situations ;  one  event 
rises  out  of  another  in  the  same  easy  and  natural  manner  as 
flows  the  language  of  the  narration ;  the  interest  never  flags. 


4         CHARACTERISTICS  OF  GOLDSMITH'S  WRITINGS. 

and  is  kept  up  to  the  last  by  the  expedient  of  concealing  the 
real  character  of  Burchell.  But  it  is  the  moral  of  the  work 
which  entitles  the  author  to  the  praise  of  super-eminent  merit 
in  this  species  of  writing.  No  writer  has  arrived  more  success- 
fully at  the  great  ends  of  a  moralist.  By  the  finest  examples, 
he  inculcates  the  practice  of  benevolence,  patience  in  suffering, 
and  reliance  on  the  providence  of  God. 

As  a  writer  of  prose,  Dr.  Anderson  in  his  ''British  Poets  " 
says,  "  Goldsmith  must  be  allowed  to  have  rivalled  and  even 
exceeded  Dr.  Johnson  and  his  imitator  Dr.  Hawksworth,  the 
most  celebrated  professional  prose  writer  of  his  time.  His 
prose  may  be  regarded  as  the  model  of  perfection,  and  the 
standard  of  our  language  ;  to  equal  which  the  efforts  of  most 
will  be  vain,  and,  to  exceed  it,  every  expectation  folly." 

Johnson,  according  to  Boswell,  said  of  his  friend,  "  whether 
we  take  him  as  a  poet,  as  a  comic  writer,  or  as  a  historian,  he 
stands  in  the  first  class.  He  has  the  art  of  saying  everything 
he  has  to  say  in  a  pleasing  manner."  In  his  works  the  Doctor 
has  pronounced  him  to  be,  "  A  man  of  such  variety  of  powers, 
and  such  facility  of  performance,  that  he  always  seemed  to  do 
best  that  which  he  was  doing  ;  a  man  who  had  the  art  of  being 
minute  without  tediousness,  and  general  without  confusion ; 
whose  language  was  copious  without  exuberance,  exact  with- 
out constraint,  and  easy  without  weakness." — "  He  was,"  said 
Johnson  emphatically,  on  other  occasion,  a  very  great  man. 
Every  year  he  lived  he  would  have  deserved  Westminster 
Abbey  the  more  ! " 

Sir  Walter  Scott  has  added  his  tribute  to  the  throng.  "The 
wreath  of  Goldsmith,"  he  says,  "  is  unsullied.  He  wrote  to 
exalt  virtue  and  expose  vice  ;  and  he  accomplished  his  task  in 
a  manner  which  raises  him  to  the  highest  rank  among  British 
authors.  We  close  his  volume  [The  Vicar  of  Wakefield]  with 
a  sigh  that  such  an  author  should  have  been  so  prematurely 
removed  from  the  sphere  of  literature  which  he  so  highly 
adorned." 

As  a  poet,  all  that  he  has  written  has  been  pronounced 
good  by  Lord  Byron,  while  in  the  passage  which  contains  this 
judgment,  his  Lordship  says  that  not  one-half  is  good  of  the 
y£neid,  of  Milton  or  of  Dryden.  Campbell,  the  author  of  the 
"  Pleasures  of  Hope,"  says  that  "  Goldsmith's  poetry  presents 
a  distinct  and  unbrokert  view  of  poetical  delightfulness.  His 
descriptions  and  sentiments  have  the  purest  zest  of  nature. 
He  is  refined  without  false  delicacy,  and  .correct  without  insi- 
pidity. *  *  *  *  He  unbends  from  graver  strains  of  reflec- 


CHARACTERISES  OF  GOLDSMITH'S  WRITINGS.       5 

tion  to  tenderness,  and  even  to  playfulness,  with  an  ease  and 
grace  almost  exclusively  his  own  ;  and  connects  extensive  views 
of  the  happiness  and  interest  of  society  with  pictures  of  life  that 
touch  the  heart  by  their  familiarity." 

To  these  ample  praises  it  is  unnecessary  to  make  any 
addition.  It  may  however  be  interesting  to  the  reader  to  be 
informed  that,  both  in  his  poetry  and  prose,  Goldsmith  usually 
drew  from  nature,  not  only  in  the  common  acceptation  of  the 
phrase,  but  literally  and  in  fact. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Page. 
The  description  of  the  family  of  Wakefield,  in  which  a  kindred 

likeness  prevails,  as  well  of  minds  as  of  persons n 

CHAPTER  II. 

Family  misfortunes. — The  loss  of  fortune   only  serves  to  in- 
crease the  pride  of  the  worthy 14 

CHAPTER    III. 

A  migration. — The  fortunate  circumstances  of  our  lives  are 

generally  found  at  last  to  be  of  our  own  procuring 17 

CHAPTER  IV.    ' 

A  proof  that  even  the  humblest  fortune  may  grant  happiness, 

which  depends  not  on  circumstances  but  constitution. ...     22 

CHAPTER  V. 

A  new  and  great  acquaintance  introduced. — What  we  place 

most  hopes  upon,  generally  proves  most  fatal 25 

CHAPTER  VI. 
The  happiness  of  a  country  fireside 28 

CHAPTER  VII. 

A  town-wit  described — The  dullest  fellows   may  learn  to  be 

comical  for  a  night  or  two 30 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

An  amour  which  promises  little  good  fortune,  yet  may  be  pro- 
ductive of  much 34 


g  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

PAGK. 
Two  ladies  of  great  distinction  introduced — Superior  finery 

ever  seems  to  confer  superior  breeding 39 

CHAPTER  X. 

The  family  endeavors  to  cope  with  their  betters. — The  miseries 
of  the  poor  when  they  attempt  to  appear  above  their  cir- 
cumstances    42 

CHAPTER  XI. 
The  family  still  resolve  to  hold  up  their  heads 45 

CHAPTER  XII. 

Fortune  seems  resolved  to  humble  the  family  of  Wakefield — 

Mortifications  are  often  more  painful  than  real  calamities     49 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

Mr.  Burchell  is  found  to  be  an  enemy ;  for  he  has  the  confi- 
dence to  give  disagreeable  advice 53 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

Fresh  mortifications,  or  a  demonstration  that  seeming  calami- 
ties may  be  real  blessings 56 

CHAPTER  XV. 

All  Mr.  Burchell's  villany  at  once  detected. — The  folly  of  being 

over-wise 60 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
The  family  use  art,  which  is  opposed  with  still  greater 64 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

Scarcely  any  virtue  found  to  resist  the  power  of  long  and 

pleasing  temptation 68 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
The  pursuit  of  a  father  to  reclaim  a  lost  child  to  virtue 74 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

The  description  of  a  person  discontented  with  the    present 

government  and  apprehensive  of  the  loss  of  our  liberties. .     78 


CONTENTS.  Q 

CHAPTER  XX. 

PAGE. 
The  history    of   a  philosophic  vagabond,  pursuing  novelty, 

but  losing  contentment.   84 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

The  short   continuance  of   friendship    amongst    the  vicious, 

which  is  cotval  only  with  mutual  satisfaction 95 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
Offences  are  easily  pardoned  where  there  is  love  at  bottom 101 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
None  but  the  guilty  can  be  long  and  completely  miserable. . . .   104 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
Fresh  calamities 108 

,    CHAPTER  XXV. 

No  situation,  however  wretched  it  seems,  but  has  some  sort  of 
comfort  attending  it 1 1 1 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A  reformation  in  the  jail. — To  make  laws  complete,  they 
should  reward  as  well  as  punish 115 

CHAPTER   XXVII. 
The  same  subject  continued 119 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

Happiness  and  misery  rather  the  result  of  prudence  than  of 
virtue  in  this  life ;  temporal  evils  or  felicities  being  re- 
garded by  Heaven  as  things  merely  in  themselves  trifling, 
and  unworthy  its  care  in  the  distribution 122 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

The  equal  dealings  of  Providence  demonstrated  with  regard 
to  the  happy  and  the  miserable  here  below. — That  "from 
the  nature  of  pleasure  and  pain,  the  wretched  must  be  re- 
paid the  balance  of  their  sufferings  in  the  life  hereafter. .  130 


10  CONTEXTS. 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

PAGS. 
Happier  prospects  begin  to  appear. — Let  us  be  inflexible,  and 

fortune  will  at  last  change  in  our  favor 133 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 
Former  benevolence  now  repaid  with  unexpected  interest. ...   139 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 
The  Conclusion 150 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  description  of  the  family  of  Wakefield,  in  which  a  kindred  likeness  prevails,  as 
well  of  minds  as  of  persons. 

I  WAS  ever  of  opinion,  that  the  honest  man  who  married 
and  brought  up  a  large  family,  did  more  service  than  he  who 
continued  single  and  only  talked  of  a  population.  From  this 
motive,  I  had  scarcely  taken  orders  a  year,  before  I  began  to 
think  seriously  of  matrimony,  and  chose  my  wife,  as  she  did 
her  wedding-gown,  not  for  a  fine  glossy  surface,  but  for  such  qual- 
ities as  would  wear  well.  To  do  her  justice,  she  was  a  good- 
natured  notable  woman  ;  and  as  for  breeding,  there  were  few 
country  ladies  who  could  show  more.  She  could  read  any 
English  book  without  much  spelling  ;  but  for  pickling,  preserv- 
ing and  cookery,  none  could  excel  her.  She  prided  herself  also 
upon  being  an  excell-ut  contriver  in  housekeeping ;  though  I 
could  never  find  that  he  grew  richer  with  all  her  contrivances. 

However  we  loved  each  other  tenderly,  and  our  fondness 
increased  as  we  grew  old.  There  was,  in  fact,  nothing  that 
could  make  us  angry  with  the  world  or  each  other.  We  had 
an  elegant  house  situated  in  a  fine  country  and  a  good  neigh- 
borhood. The  year  was  spent  in  moral  or  rural  amusements, 
in  visiting  our  rich  neighbors,  and  relieving  such  as  were  poor. 
We  had  no  revolutions  to  fear,  nor  fatigues  to  undergo  ;  all 
our  adventures  were  by  the  fireside,  and  all  our  migrations 
from  the  blue  bed  to  the  brown. 

As  we  lived  near  the  road,  we  often  had  the  traveller  or 
stranger  visit  us  to  taste  our  gooseberry  wine,  for  which  we  had 
great  reputation  ;  and  I  profess  with  the  veracity  of  a  historian, 
that  I  never  knew  one  of  them  to  find  fault  with  it.  Our  cousins 
too,  even  to  the  fortieth  remove,  all  remembered  their  affinity, 
without  any  help  from  the  herald's  office,  and  came  very  fre- 
quently to  see  us.  Some  of  them  did  us  no  great  honor  by  these 


12  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

claims  of  kindred  ;  as  we  had  the  blind,  the  maimed,  and  the 
halt  amongst  the  number.  However,  my  wife  always  insisted, 
that  as  they  were  the  sameyfos^  and  blood,  they  should  sit  with 
us  at  the  same  table.  So  that  if  we  had  not  very  rich,  we  gene- 
rally had  very  happy  friends  about  us  ,  for  this  remark  will  hold 
good  through  life,  that  the  poorer  the  guest,  the  better  pleased 
he  ever  is  with  being  treated  :  and  as  some  men  gaze  with  ad- 
miration at  the  colors  of  a  tulip,  or  the  wings  of  a  butterfly,  so 
I  was  by  nature  an  admirer  of  happy  human  faces.  However, 
when  any  one  of  our  relations  was  found  to  be  a  person  of  very 
bad  character,  a  troublesome  guest,  or  one  we  desired  to  get  rid 
of,  upon  his  leaving  my  house  I  ever  took  care  to  lend  him  a 
riding-coat,  or  a  pair  of  boots,  or  sometimes  a  horse  of  small 
value,  and  I  always  had  the  satisfaction  of  finding  he  never 
came  back  to  return  them.  By  this  the  house  was  cleared  of 
such  as  we  did  not  like  ,  but  never  was  the  family  of  WAKE- 
FIELD  known  to  turn  the  traveller  or  the  poor  dependent  out  of 
doors. 

Thus  we  lived  several  years  in  a  state  of  much  happiness, 
not  but  that  we  sometimes  had  those  little  rubs  which  Provi- 
dence sends  to  enhance  the  value  of  its  favors.  My  orchard 
was  often  robbed  by  schoolboys,  and  my  wife's  custards  plun- 
dered by  the  cats  or  the  children.  The  'Squire  would  some- 
times fall  asleep  in  the  most  pathetic  parts  of  my  sermon,  or 
his  lady  return  my  wife's  civilities  at  church  with  a  mutilated 
courtesy.  But  we  soon  got  over  the  uneasiness  caused  by  such 
accidents,  and  usually  in  three  or  four  days  began  to  wonder 
how  they  vexed  us. 

My  children,  the  offspring  of  temperance,  as  they  were  edu- 
cated without  softness,  so  they  were  at  once  well  formed  and 
healthy  ;  my  sons  hardy  and  active,  my  daughters  beautiful 
and  blooming.  When  I  stood  in  the  midst  of  the  little  circle, 
which  promised  to  be  the  supports  of  my  declining  age.  I  could 
not  avoid  repeating  the  famous  stop/  of  Count  Abensberg,  who 
in  Henry  Second's  progress  through  Germany,  while  other 
courtiers  came  with  their  treasures,  brought  his  thirty-two  chil- 
dren, and  presented  them  to  his  sovereign  as  the  most  valuable 
offering  he  had  to  bestow.  In  this  manner,  though  I  had  but  six, 
I  considered  them  as  a  very  valuable  present  made  to  my 
country,  and  consequently  looked  upon  it  as  my  debtor.  Our 
eldest  son  was  named  GEORGE,  after  his  uncle,  who  left  us  ten 
thousand  pounds.  Our  second  child,  a  girl,  I  intended  to  call 
after  her  aunt  Grissel ;  but  my  wife,  who  during  her  pregnancy 
had  been  reading  romances,  insisted  upon  her  being  called 


VICAR  OF  WAKE  FIELD.  ^ 

OLIVIA.  In  less  than  another  year  we  had  another  daugh- 
ter, and  now  I  was  determined  that  Grissel  should  be  her 
name  ;  but  a  rich  relation  taking  a  fancy  to  stand  godmother, 
the  girl  was,  by  her  directions,  called  SOPHIA  ;  so  that  we 
had  two  romantic  names  in  the  family  ;  but  I  solemnly  protest 
I  had  no  hand  in  it.  MOSES  was  our  next,  and  after  an  interval 
of  twelve  years  we  had  two  sons  more. 

It  would  be  fruitless  to  deny  exultations  when  I  saw  my 
little  ones  about  me  ,  but  the  vanity  and  the  satisfaction  of  my 
wife  were  even  greater  than  mine.  When  our  visitors  would 
say,  "  Well,  upon  my  word,  Mrs.  Primrose,  you  have  the 
finest  children  in  the  whole  country  ;  " — "  Ay,  neighbor,"  she 
would  answer,  "  they  are  as  heaven  made,  handsome  enough  if 
they  be  good  enough  ;  for  handsome  is  that  handsome  does." 
And  then  she  would  bid  the  girls  hold  up  their  heads  ;  who, 
to  conceal  nothing,  were  certainly  very  handsome.  Mere  out- 
side is  so  very  trifling  a  circumstance  with  me,  that  I  should 
scarcely  have  remembered  to  mention  it,  had  it  not  been  a 
general  topic  of  conversation  in  the  country.  Olivia,  now  about 
eighteen,  had  that  luxuriance  of  beauty  with  which  painters 
generally  drew  Hebe ;  open,  sprightly,  and  commanding. 
Sophia's  features  were  not  so  striking  at  first,  but  often  did 
more  certain  execution ;  for  they  were  soft,  modest  and  allur- 
ing. The  one  vanquished  by  a  single  blow,  the  other  by  efforts 
successfully  repeated 

The  temper  of  a  woman  is  generally  formed  from  the  turn 
of  her  features,  at  least  it  was  so  with  my  daughters.  Olivia 
wished  for  many  lovers,  Sophia  to  secure  one.  Olivia  was  often 
affected  from  too  great  a  desire  to  please.  Sophia  ev«n  re- 
pressed excellence  from  her  fears  to  offend.  The  one  enter- 
tained me  with  her  vivacity  when  I  was  gay,  the  other  with  her 
sense  when  I  was  serious.  But  these  qualities  were  never  car- 
ried to  excess  in  either,  and  I  have  often  seen  them  exchange 
characters,  for  a  whole  day  together.  A  suit  of  mourning  has 
transformed  my  coquette  into  a  prude,  and  a  new  set  of  ribbons 
has  given  her  younger  sister  more  than  natural  vivacity.  My 
eldest  son  George  was  bred  at  Oxford,  as  I  intended  him  for 
one  of  the  learned  professions.  My  second  boy  Moses,  whom 
I  designed  for  business,  received  a  sort  of  miscellaneous  educa- 
tion at  home.  But  it  is  needless  to  attempt  describing  the  par- 
ticular characters  of  young  people  that  had  seen  but  very  little 
of  the  world.  In  short,  a  family  likeness  prevailed  through  all, 
and  properly  speaking,  they  had  but  one  character,  that  of  be- 
ing all  equally  generous,  credulous,  simple,  and  inoffensive. 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Family  misfortunes. — The  loss  of  fortune  only  serves  to  increase  the  pride  of  the 

worthy. 

THE  temporal  concerns  of  our  family  were  chiefly  committed 
to  my  wife's  management ;  as  to  the  spiritual,  I  took  them  en- 
tirely under  my  own  direction.  The  profits  of  my  living,  which 
amounted  to  but  thirty-five  pounds  a  year,  I  made  over  to  the 
orphans  and  widows  of  the  clergy  of  our  diocese  :  for  having  a 
fortune  of  my  own,  I  was  careless  of  temporalities,  and  felt  a 
secret  pleasure  in  doing  my  duty  without  reward.  I  also  set  a 
resolution  of  keeping  no  curate,  and  of  being  acquainted  with 
every  man  in  the  parish,  exhorting  the  married  men  to  temper- 
ance, and  the  bachelors  to  matrimony,  so  that  in  a  few  years  it 
was  a  common  saying,  that  there  were  three  strange  wants  at 
Wakefield,  a  parson  wanting  pride,  young  men  wanting  wives, 
and  alehouses  wanting  customers. 

Matrimony  was  always  one  of  my  favorite  topics,  and  I 
wrote  several  sermons  to  prove  its  happiness ;  but  there  was  a 
peculiar  tenet  which  I  made  a  point  of  supporting ;  for  J  main- 
tained with  Whiston,  that  it  was  unlawful  for  a  priest  of  the 
church  of  England,  after  the  death  of  his  first  wife  to  take  a 
second  ;  or  to  express  it  in  one  word,  I  valued  myself  on  being 
a  striftt  monogamist. 

I  was  early  initiated  into  this  important  dispute,  on  which 
so  many  laborious  volumes  have  been  written.  I  published 
some  tracts  upon  the  subject  myself,  which,  as  they  never  sold 
I  have  the  consolation  of  thinking  were  read  only  by  the  happy 
few.  Some  of  my  friends  call  this  my  weak  side  ;  but  alas ! 
they  had  not  like  me  made  it  the  subject  of  long  contemplation. 
The  more  I  reflected  upon  it,  the  more  important  it  appeared. 
I  even  went  a  step  beyond  Whiston  in  displaying  my  principles  : 
as  he  had  engraven  upon  his  wife's  tomb  that  she  was  the  only  wife 
of  William  Whiston ;  so  I  wrote  a  similar  epitaph  for  my  wife, 
though  still  living,  in  which  I  extolled  her  prudence,  economy, 
and  obedience  till  death ;  and  having  got  it  copied  fair,  with 
an  elegant  frame,  it  was  placed  over  the  chimney-piece,  where 
it  answered  several  very  useful  purposes.  .  In  admonishing  my 
wife  of  her  duty  to  me,  and  my  fidelity  to  herx  it  inspired  net 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  15 

with  a  passion  for  fame,  and  constantly  put  her  in  mind  of  her 
end. 

It  was  thus,  perhaps,  from  hearing  marriage  so  often  rec- 
ommended, that  my  eldest  son,  just  upon  leaving  college, 
fixed  his  affections  upon  the  daughter  of  a  neighboring  clergy- 
man, who  was  a  dignitary  in  the  church,  and  in  circumstances 
to  give  her  a  large  fortune.  .But  fortune  was  her  smallest  ac- 
complishment. Miss  ARABELLA  WILMOT  was  allowed  by  all 
(except  my  two  daughters)  to  be  completely  pretty.  Her  youth, 
health  and  innocence,  were  still  heightened  by  a  complexion  so 
transparent,  and  such  a  happy  sensibility  of  look,  as  even  age 
could  not  gaze  on  with  indifference.  As  Mr.  Wilmot  knew  J 
could  make  a  very  handsome  settlement  on  my  son,  he  was 
not  averse  to  the  match :  so  both  families  lived  together  in  all 
that  harmony  which  generally  precedes  an  expected  alliance. 
Being  convinced  by  experience  that  the  days  of  courtship  are 
the  most  happy  of  our  lives,  I  was  willing  enough  to  lengthen 
the  period  ;  and  the  various  amusements  which  the  young  peo- 
ple every  day  shared  in  each  other's  company  seemed  to  in- 
crease their  passion.  We  were  generally  awaked  in  the  morn- 
ing by  music,  and  on  fine  days  rode  a  hunting.  The  hours  be- 
tween breakfast  and  dinner  the  ladies  devoted  to  dress  and 
study  :  they  usually  read  a  page,  and  then  gazed  at  themselves 
in  the  glass,  which  even  philosophers  might  own  often  pre- 
sented the  page  of  greatest  beauty.  At  dinner  my  wife  took 
the  lead  ;  for  as  she  always  insisted  on  carving  everything  her- 
self, it  being  her  mother's  way,  she  gave  us  upon  these  occa- 
sions the  history  of  every  dish.  When  we  had  dined,  to  pre- 
vent the  ladies  leaving  us,  I  generally  ordered  the  table  to  be 
removed  ;  and  sometimes,  with  the  music-master's  assistance, 
the  girls  would  give  us  a  very  agreeable  concert.  Walking  out, 
drinking  tea,  country  dances,  and  forfeits,  shortened  the  rest  of 
the  day,  without  the  assistance  of  cards,  as  I  hated  all  manner 
of  gaming,  except  backgammon,  at  which  my  old  friend  and  I 
sometimes  took  a  twopenny  hit.  Nor  can  I  here  pass  over 
an  ominous  circumstance  that  happened  the  last  time  we  played 
together ;  I  only  wanted  to  fling  a  quatre,  and  yet  I  threw 
deuce  ace  five  times  running. 

Some  months  were  elapsed  in  this  manner,  till  at  last  it 
was  thought  convenient  to  fix  a  day  for  the  nuptials  of  the 
young  couple,  who  seemed  earnestly  to  desire  it.  During  the 
preparations  for  the  wedding,  I  need  not  describe  the  busy 
importance  of  my  wife,  nor  the  sly  looks  of  my  daughters  :  in 
t,  my  attention  was  fixed  on  another  object,  the  completing 


l6  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

a  tract  which  I  intended  shortly  to  publish  in  defence  of  my 
favorite  principle.  As  I  looked  upon  this  as  a  masterpiece, 
both  for  argument  and  style,  I  could  not  in  the  pride  of  my 
heart  avoid  showing  it  to  my  old  friend  Mr.  Wilmot,  as  I  made 
no  doubt  of  receiving  his  approbation  ;  but  not  till  too  late  I 
discovered  that  he  was  most  violently  attached  to  the  contrary 
opinion,  and  with  good  reason  ;  for  he  was  at  that  time  actually 
courting  a  fourth  wife.  This,  as  may  be  expected,  produced  a 
dispute  attended  with  some  acrimony,  which  threatened  to  inter- 
rupt our  intended  alliance  :  but  the  day  before  that  appointed 
for  the  ceremony,  we  agreed  to  discuss  the  subject  at  large. 

It  was  managed  with  proper  spirit  on  both  sides  :  he  as- 
serted that  I  was  heterodox,  I  retorted  the  charge  ;  he  replied 
and  I  rejoined.  In  the  meantime,  while  the  controversy  was 
hottest,  I  was  called  out  by  one  of  my  relations,  who  with  a  face 
of  concern,  advised  me  to  give  up  the  dispute,  at  least  till  my 
son's  wedding  was  over.  "  How  !  "  cried  I,  "  relinquish  the 
cause  of  truth,  and  let  him  be  a  husband,  already  driven  to  the 
very  verge  of  absurdity.  You  might  as  well  advise  me  to  give 
up  my  fortune  as  my  argument."  "  Your  fortune,"  returned 
my  friend,  "  I  am  now  sorry  to  inform  you  is  almost  nothing. 
The  merchant  in  town,  in  whose  hands  your  money  was  lodged, 
has  gone  off  to  avoid  a  statute  of  bankruptcy,  and  is  thought 
not  to  have  left  a  shilling  in  the  pound.  I  was  unwilling  to 
shock  you  or  the  family  with  the  account  until  after  the  wed- 
ding :  but  now  it  may  serve  to  moderate  your  warmth  in  the 
argument ;  for,  I  suppose  your  own  prudence  will  enforce  the 
necessity  of  dissembling,  at  least  till  your  son"  has  the  young 
lady's  fortune  secure."  "  Well,"  returned  I,  "  if  what  you  tell 
me  be  true,  and  if  I  am  to  be  a  beggar,  it  shall  never  make  me  a 
rascal,  or  induce  me  to  disavow  my  principles.  I'll  go  this  mo- 
ment and  inform  the  company  of  my  circumstances  :  and  as  for 
the  argument,  I  even  here  retract  my  former  concessions  in  the 
old  gentleman's  favor,  nor  will  I  allow  him  now  to  be  a  hus- 
band in  any  sense  of  the  expression." 

It  would  be  endless  to  describe  the  different  sentiments  of 
both  families  when  I  divulged  the  news  of  our  misfortune  :  but 
what  others  felt  was  slight  to  what  the  lovers  appeared  to  en- 
dure. Mr.  Wilmot,  who  seemed  before  sufficiently  inclined  to 
break  off  the  match,  was  by  this  blow  soon  determined  :  one 
virtue  he  had  in  perfection,  which  was  prudence,  too  often  the 
only  one  that  is  left  at  seventy-two. 


VICAR  OF  WAKEF1ELD. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  Migration. — The  fortunate  circumstances  of  our  lives  are  generally  found  at  last  to 
be  of  our  own  procuring. 

THE  only  hope  of  our  family  now  was,  that  the  report  of  OUT 
misfortunes  might  be  malicious  or  premature  ;  but  a  letter  from 
my  agent  in  town  soon  came  with  a  confirmation  of  every  par- 
ticular. The  loss  of  fortune  to  myself  alone  would  have  been 
trifling  ;  the  only  uneasiness  I  felt  was  for  my  family,  who  were 
to  be  humble  without  an  education  to  render  them  callous  to 
contempt. 

Near  a  fortnight  had  passed  before  I  attempted  to  restrain 
their  affliction ,  for  premature  consolation  is  but  the  remem- 
brance of  sorrow.  During  this  interval,  my  thoughts  were  em- 
ployed on  some  future  means  of  supporting  them  ;  and  at  last  a 
small  cure  of  fifteen  pounds  a  year  was  offered  me  in  a  distant 
neighborhood,  where  1  could  still  enjoy  my  principles  without 
molestation.  With  this  proposal  I  joyfully  closed,  having  deter- 
mined to  increase  my  salary  by  managing  a  little  farm. 

Having  taken  this  resolution,  my  next  care  was  to  get 
together  the  wrecks  of  my  fortune ;  and,  all  debts  collected  and 
paid,  out  of  fourteen  thousand  pounds  we  had  but  four  hundred 
remaining.  My  chief  attention,  therefore,  was  now  to  bring 
down  the  pride  of  my  family  to  their  circumstances  ;  for  I  well 
knew  that  aspiring  beggary  is  wretchedness  itself.  "  You  can- 
not be  ignorant,  my  children,"  cried  I,  "  that  no  prudence  of 
ours  could  have  prevented  our  late  misfortune  ;  but  prudence 
may  do  much  in  disappointing  its  effects.  We  are  now  poor,  my 
fondlings,  and  wisdom  bids  us  conform  to  our  humble  situa- 
tion. Let  us  then,  without  repining,  give  up  those  splendors 
with  which  numbers  are  wretched,  and  seek  in  humbler  circum- 
stances that  peace  with  which  all  may  be  happy,  The  poor  live 
pleasantly  without  our  help,  why  then  should  no*t  we  learn  to 
live  without  theirs  ?  No,  my  children,  let  us  from  this  moment 
give  up  all  pretensions  to  gentility  ;  we  have  still  enough  left  for 
happiness  if  we  are  wise,  and  let  us  draw  upon  content  for  the 
deficiencies  of  fortune." 

~As  my  eldest  son  was  bred  a  scholar,  I  determined  to  send 
him  to  town,  were  his  abilities  might  contribute  to  our  support 
ana  hib  own.  The  separation  of  friends  and  families  is,  per- 


iS  VICAR  OF  WAKEFTELD. 

haps,  one  of  the  most  distressful  circumstances  attendant  on 
penury.  The  day  soon  arrived  on  which  we  were  to  disperse 
for  the  first  time.  My  son,  after  taking  leave  of  his  mother 
and  the  rest,  who  mingled  their  tears  and  their  kisses,  came  to 
ask  a  blessing  from  me.  This  I  gave  him  from  my  heart,  and 
which,  added  to  five  guineas,  was  all  the  patrimony  I  had  now 
to  bestow.  "  You  are  going,  my  boy,"  cried  I,  "  to  London  on 
foot,  in  the  manner  Hooker,  your  great  ancestor,  travelled  there 
before  you.  Take  from  me  the  same  horse  that  was  given  him 
by  the  good  Bishop  Jewel,  this  staff,  and  this  book  too,  it  will 
be  your  comfort  on  the  way  :  these  two  lines  in  it  are  worth  a 
million,  '  I  have  been  young,  and  now  am  old  ;  yet  never  saw 
I  the  righteous  man  forsaken,  or  his  seed  begging  their  bread.' 
Let  this  be  your  consolation  as  you  travel  on.  Go,  my  boy ; 
whatever  be  thy  fortune,  let  me  see  thee  once  a  year ;  still  keep 
a  good  heart,  and  farewell."  As  he  was  possessed  of  integrity 
and  honor,  I  was  under  no  apprehensions  from  throwing  him 
naked  into  the  amphitheatre  of  life ;  for  I  knew  he  would  act  a 
good  part,  whether  vanquished  or  victorious. 

His  departure  only  prepared  the  way  for  our  own,  which 
arrived  a  few  days  afterwards.  The  leaving  a  neighborhood 
in  which  we  had  enjoyed  so  many  hours  of  tranquillity,  was  not 
without  a  tear  which  scarcely  fortitude  itself  could  suppress. 
Besides,  a  journey  of  seventy  miles  to  a  family  that  had  hitherto 
never  been  above  ten  from  home,  filled  us  with  apprehension  ; 
and  the  cries  of  the  poor,  who  followed  us  for  some  miles,  con- 
tributed to  increase  it.  The  first  day's  journey  brought  us  in 
safety  within  thirty  miles  of  our  future  retreat,  and  we  put  up 
for  the  night  at  an  obscure  inn  in  a  village  by  the  way.  When 
we  were  shown  a  room,  I  desired  the  landlord,  in  my  usual 
way,  to  let  us  have  his  company,  with  which  he  complied,  as 
what  he  drank  would  increase  the  bill  next  morning.  He 
knew,  however,  the  whole  neighborhood  to  which  I  was  re- 
moving, particularly  'Squire  THORNHILL,  who  was  to  be  my 
landlord,  and  who  lived  within  a  few  miles  of  the  place.  This 
gentleman  he  described  as  one  who  desired  to  know  little  more 
of  the  world  than  its  pleasures,  being  particularly  remarkable 
for  his  attachment  to  the  fair  sex.  He  observed  that  no  virtue 
was  able  to  resist  his  arts  and  assiduity,  and  that  scarcely  a 
farmer's  daughter  within  ten  miles  round,  but  what  had  found 
him  successful  and  faithless.  Though  this  account  gave  me 
some  pain,  it  had  a  very  different  effect  upon  my  daughters, 
whose  features  seemed  to  brighten  with  the  expectation  of  an 
approaching  triumph ;  nor  was  my  wife  less  pleased  and  con- 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  Tg 

fident  of  their  allurements  and  virtue.  While  our  thoughts 
were  thus  employed  the  hostess  entered  the  room  to  inform  her 
husband,  that  the  strange  gentleman,  who  had  been  two  days 
in  the  house,  wanted  money,  and  could  not  satisfy  them  for  his 
reckoning.  "  Want  money  !  "  replied  the  host,  "  that  must  be 
impossible,  for  it  was  no  later  than  yesterday  he  paid  three 
guineas  to  our  beadle  to  spare  an  old  broken  soldier  that  was 
to  be  whipped  through  the  town  for  dog-stealing."  The  hos- 
tess, however,  still  persisting  in  her  first  assertion,  he  was  pre- 
paring to  leave  the  room,  swearing  that  he  would  be  satisfied 
one  way  or  another,  when  I  begged  the  landlord  would  introduce 
me  to  a  stranger  of  so  much  charity  as  he  described.  With 
this  he  complied,  showing  in  a  gentleman  who  seemed  to  be 
about  thirty,  dressed  in  clothes  that  once  were  laced.  His 
person  was  well  formed,  and  his  face  marked  with  the  lines  of 
thinking. 

He  had  something  short  and  dry  in  his  address,  and  seemed 
not  to  understand  ceremony,  or  to  despise  it.  Upon  the  land- 
lord's leaving  the  room,  I  could  not  avoid  expressing  my  concern 
to  the  stranger  at  seeing  a  gentleman  in  such  circumstances,  and 
offered  him  my  purse  to  satisfy  the  present  demand.  "  I  take 
it  with  all  my  heart,  sir,"  replied  he,  "  and  am  glad  that  a  late 
oversight,  in  giving  what  money  I  had  about  me,  has  shown  me 
that  there  are  still  some  men  like  you.  I  must  however,  pre- 
viously entreat  being  informed  of  the  name  and  residence  of 
my  benefactor,  in  order  to  repay  him  as  soon  as  possible."  In 
this  I  satisfied  him  fully,  not  only  mentioning  my  name  and 
late  misfortunes,  but  the  place  to  which  I  was  going  to  remove. 
"  This,"  cried  he,  "  happens  still  more  luckily  than  I  had  hoped 
for,  as  I  am  going  the  same  way  myself,  and  having  been  de- 
tained here  two  days  by  the  floods,  which  I  hope  to-morrow 
will  be  found  passable."  I  testified  the  pleasure  I  should  have 
in  his  company,  and  my  wife  and  daughters  joining  in  entreaty, 
he  was  prevailed  upon  to  stay  to  supper.  The  stranger's  con- 
versation, which  was  at  once  pleasing  and  instructive,  induced 
me  to  wish  for  a  continuance  of  it ;  but  it  was  now  high  time 
to  retire  and  take  refreshment  against  the  fatigues  of  the  fol- 
lowing day. 

The  next  morning  we  all  set  forward  together :  my  family 
on  horseback,  while  Mr.  BURCHELL,  our  new  companion,  walked 
along  the  foot-path  by  the  road-side,  observing  with  a  smile, 
that  as  we  were  ill  mounted,  he  would  be  too  generous  to  at- 
tempt leaving  us  behind.  As  the  floods  were  not  yet  subsided, 
we  were  obliged  to  hire  a  guide,  who  trotted  on  before,  Mr. 


20  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

Burchell  and  I  bringing  up  the  rear.  We  lightened  the  fatigues 
of  the  road  with  philosophical  disputes,  which  he  seemed  to 
understand  perfectly.  But  what  surprised  me  most  was  that 
though  he  was  a  money-borrower,  he  defended  his  opinions 
with  as  much  obstinacy  as  if  he  had  been  my  patron.  He 
now  and  then  also  informed  me  to  whom  the  different  seats 
belonged  that  lay  in  our  view  as  we  travelled  the  road.  "That," 
cried  he,  pointing  to  a  very  magnificent  house  which  stood  at 
some  distance,  "  belongs  to  Mr.  Thornhill,  a  young  gentleman 
who  enjoys  a  large  fortune,  though  entirely  dependent  on  the  will 
of  his  uncle,  Sir  William  Thornhill,  a  gentleman  who,  content 
with  a  little  himself,  permits  his  nephew  to  enjoy  the  rest,  and 
chiefly  resides  in  town."  "  What !  "  cried  I,  "  is  my  young 
landlord  then  the  nephew  of  a  man,  whose  virtues,  generosity, 
and  singularities  are  so  universally  known  ?  I  have  heard  Sir 
William  Thornhill  represented  as  one  of  the  most  generous  yet 
whimsical  men  in  the  kingdom  ;  a  man  of  consummate  benevo- 
lence." "  Something,  perhaps,  too  much  so,"  replied  Mr.  Bur- 
chell, "at  least  he  carried  benevolence  to  an  excess  when 
young ;  for  his  passions  were  then  strong,  and  as  they  were  all 
upon  the  side  of  virtue,  they  led  it  up  to  a  romantic  extreme. 
He  early  began  to  aim  at  the  qualifications  of  the  soldier  and 
scholar ;  was  soon  distinguished  in  the  army,  and  had  some 
reputation  among  men  of  learning.  Adulation  ever  follows 
the  ambitious  ;  for  such  alone  receive  most  pleasure  from  flat- 
tery. He  was  surrounded  with  crowds,  who  showed  him  only 
one  side  of  their  character  :  so  that  he  began  to  lose  a  regard 
for  private  interest  in  universal  sympathy.  He  loved  all 
mankind  ;  for  fortune  prevented  him  from  knowing  that  there 
were  rascals.  Physicians  tell  us  of  a  disorder,  in  which  the 
whole  body  is  so  exquisitely  sensible  that  the  slightest  touch 
gives  pain  :  what  some  have  thus  suffered  in  their  persons,  this 
gentleman  felt  in  his  mind.  The  slightest  distress,  whether 
real  or  fictitious,  touched  him  to  the  quick,  and  his  soul  labored 
under  a  sickly  sensibility  to  the  miseries  of  others.  Thus  dis- 
posed to  relieve,  it  will  be  easily  conjectured  he  found  numbers 
disposed  to  solicit ;  his  profusions  began  to  impair  his  fortune, 
but  not  his  good-nature  ;  that,  indeed,  was  seen  to  increase  as 
the  other  seemed  to  decay  :  he  grew  improvident  as  he  grew 
poor ;  and  though  he  talked  like  a  man  of  sense,  his  actions 
were  those  of  a  fool.  Still,  however  being  surrounded  with 
importunity,  and  no  longer  able  to  satisfy  every  request  that 
was  made  him,  instead  of  money  he  gave  promises.  They  were 
all  he  had  to  bestow,  and  he  had  not  resolution  enough  to  give 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  21 

any  man  pain  by  a  denial.  By  this  he  drew  around  him  crowds 
of  dependents,  whom  he  was  sure  to  disappoint,  yet  he  wished 
to  relieve.  These  hung  upon  him  for  a  time,  and  left  him  with 
merited  reproaches  and  contempt.  But  in  proportion  as  he  be- 
came contemptible  to  others,  he  became  despicable  to  him- 
self. His  mind  had  leaned  upon  their  adulation,  and  that 
support  taken  away,  he  could  find  no  pleasure  in  the  ap- 
plause of  his  heart,  which  he  had  never  learned  to  rever- 
ence. The  world  now  began  to  wear  a  different  aspect ;  the 
flattery  of  his  friends  began  to  dwindle  into  simple  approba- 
tion. Approbation  soon  took  the  more  friendly  form  of  ad- 
vice, and  advice,  when  rejected,  produced  their  reproaches. 
He  now  therefore  found,  that  such  friends  as  benefits  had 
gathered  round  him,  were  little  estimable  :  he  now  found  that 
a  man's  own  heart  must  be  ever  given  to  gain  that  of  another. 
I  now  found,  that — that — I  forget  what  I  was  going  to  observe  ; 
in  short,  sir,  he  resolved  to  respect  himself,  and  laid  down  a 
plan  of  restoring  his  fallen  fortune.  For  this  purpose,  in  his 
own  whimsical  manner,  he  travelled  through  Europe  on  foot, 
and  now,  though  he  has  scarcely  attained  the  age  of  thirty,  his 
circumstances  are  more  affluent  than  ever.  At  present,  his 
bounties  are  more  rational  and  moderate  than  before ;  but  still 
he  preserves  the  character  of  a  humorist,  and  finds  most  pleas- 
ure in  eccentric  virtues." 

My  attention  was  so  much  taken  up  by  Mr.  Burchell's  ac- 
count, that  I  scarcely  looked  forward  as  we  went  along,  till  we 
were  alarmed  by  the  cries  of  my  family,  when  turning,  I  per- 
ceived my  youngest  daughter  in  the  midst  of  a  rapid  stream, 
thrown  from  her  horse,  and  struggling  with  the  torrent.  She 
had  sunk  twice,  nor  was  it  in  my  power  to  disengage  myself  in 
time  to  bring  her  relief.  My  sensations  were  even  too  violent 
to  permit  my  attempting  her  rescue  :  she  must  have  certainly 
perished  had  not  my  companion,  perceiving  her  danger,  in- 
stantly plunged  in  to  her  relief,  and,  with  some  difficulty, 
brought  her  in  safety  to  the  opposite  shore.  By  taking  the 
current  a  little  further  up,  the  rest  of  the  family  got  safely  over, 
where  we  had  an  opportunity  of  joining  our  acknowledgments 
to  her's.  Her  gratitude  may  be  more  readily  imagined  than 
described  :  she  thanked  her  deliverer  more  with  looks  than 
words,  and  continued  to  lean  upon  his  arm,  as  if  still  willing  to 
receive  assistance.  My  wife  also  hoped  one  day  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  returning  his  kindness  at  her  own  house.  Thus, 
after  we  were  refreshed  at  the  next  inn,  and  had  dined  to- 
gether, as  Mr.  Burchell  was  going  to  a  different  part  of  the 


22  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

country,  he  took  leave  ;  and  we  pursued  our  journey  ;  my  wife 
observing  as  he  went,  that  she  liked  him  extremely,  and  pro- 
testing, that  if  he  had  birth  and  fortune  to  entitle  him  to  match 
into  such  a  family  as  ours,  she  knew  no  man  she  would  sooner 
fix  upon.  I  could  not  but  smile  to  hear  her  talk  in  this  lofty 
strain  :  but  I  never  was  much  displeased  with  those  harmless 
delusions  that  tend  to  make  us  more  happy. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  proof  that  even  the  humblest  fortune  may  grant  happiness,  which  depends  not  on 
circumstances  but  constitution. 

THE  place  of  our  retreat  was  in  a  little  neighborhood,  con- 
sisting of  farmers,  who  tilled  their  own  grounds,  and  were  equal 
strangers  to  opulence  and  poverty.  As  they  had  almost  all  the 
conveniences  of  life  within  themselves,  they  seldom  visited 
towns  or  cities  in  search  of  superfluity.  Remote  from  the  polite, 
they  still  retained  the  primeval  simplicity  of  manners  :  and 
frugal  by  habit,  they  scarcely  knew  that  temperance  was  a  vir- 
tue. They  wrought  with  cheerfulness  on  days  of  labor ;  but 
observed  festivals  as  intervals  of  idleness  and  pleasure.  They 
kept  up  the  Christmas  carol,  sent  true  love-knots  on  Valentine 
morning,  ate  pancakes  on  Shrove-tide,  showed  their  wit  on  the 
first  of  April,  and  religiously  cracked  nuts  on  Michaelmas  eve. 
Being  apprised  of  our  approach,  the  whole  neighborhood  came 
out  to  meet  their  minister,  dressed  in  their  finest  clothes,  and 
preceded  by  pipe  and  tabor.  A  feast  also  was  provided  for  our 
reception,  at  which  we  sat  cheerfully  down  :  and  what  the  con- 
versation wanted  in  wit  was  made  up  in  laughter. 

Our  little  habitation  was  situated  at  the  foot  of  a  sloping 
hill,  sheltered  with  a  beautiful  underwood  behind,  and  a  prat- 
tling river  before  ;  on  one  side  a  meadow,  on  the  other  a  green. 
My  farm  consisted  of  about  twenty  acres  of  excellent  land, 
having  given  a  hundred  pounds  for  my  predecessor's  good-will. 
Nothing  could  exceed  the  neatness  of  my  little  enclosures  ;  the 
elms  and  hedge-rows  appearing  with  inexpressible  beauty.  My 
house  consisted  of  but  one  story,  and  was  covered  with  thatch, 
which  gave  it  an  air  of  great  snugness  ;  the  walls  on  the  inside 
were  nicely  white-washed,  and  my  daughters  undertook  to  adorn 
them  with  pictures  of  their  own  designing.  Though  the  same 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  ^ 

room  served  us  for  parlor  and  kitchen,  that  only  made  it  the 
warmer.  Besides,  as  it  was  kept  with  the  utmost  neatness,  the 
dishes,  plates,  and  coppers  being  well  scoured,  and  all  disposed 
in  bright  rows  on  the  shelves,  the  eye  was  agreeably  relieved, 
and  did  not  want  richer  furniture.  There  were  three  other 
apartments,  one  for  my  wife  and  me,  another  for  our  two 
daughters,  within  our  own,  and  the  third,  with  two  beds,  for 
the  rest  of  the  children. 

The  little  republic  to  which  I  gave  laws,  was  regulated  in  the 
following  manner  :  by  sunrise  we  all  assembled  in  our  common 
apartment  ;  the  fire  being  previously  kindled  by  the  servant. 
After  we  had  saluted  each  other  with  proper  ceremony,  for  I 
always  thought  fit  to  keep  up  some  mechanical  forms  of  good- 
breeding,  without  which  freedom  ever  destroys  friendship,  we 
all  bent  in  gratitude  to  that  Being  who  gave  us  another  day. 
This  duty  being  performed,  my  son  and  I  went  to  pursue  our 
usual  industry  abroad,  while  my  wife  and  daughters  employed 
themselves  in  providing  breakfast,  which  was  always  ready  at  a 
certain  time.  I  allowed  half  an  hour  for  this  meal,  and  an  hour 
for  dinner ;  which  time  was  taken  up  in  innocent  mirth  between 
my  wife  and  daughters,  and  in  philosophical  arguments  between 
my  son  and  me. 

As  we  rose  with  the  sun,  so  we  never  pursued  our  labors 
after  it  was  gone  down,  but  returned  home  to  the  expectant 
family  ;  where  smiling  looks,  a  neat  hearth,  and  pleasant  fire, 
were  prepared  for  our  reception.  Nor  were  we  without  guests  ; 
sometimes  Farmer  Flamborough,  our  talkative  neighbor,  and 
often  the  blind  piper  would  pay  us  a  visit,  and  taste  our  goose- 
berry-wine ;  for  the  making  of  which  we  had  lost  neither  the 
receipt  nor  the  reputation.  These  harmless  people  had  several 
ways  of  being  good  company ;  while  one  played,  the  other 
would  sing  some  soothing  ballad,  Johnny  Armstrong's  last  good 
night,  or  the  cruelty  of  Barbara  Allen.  The  night  was  con- 
cluded in  the  manner  we  began  the  morning,  my  youngest  boys 
being  appointed  to  read  the  lessons  of  the  day ;  and  he  that 
read  loudest,  distinctest,  and  best,  was  to  have  a  halfpenny  on 
Sunday  to  put  in  the  poor's  box. 

When  Sunday  came,  it  was  indeed  a  day  of  finery,  which 
all  my  sumptuary  edicts  could  not  restrain.  How  well  soever 
I  fancied  my  lectures  against  pride  had  conquered  the  vanity  of 
my  daughters  ;  yet  J  found  them  still  secretly  attached  to  all 
their  former  finery  :  they  still  loved  laces,  ribbons,  bugles,  and 
catgut ;  my  wife  herself  retained  a  passion  for  her  crimson  pedu- 
asoy,  because  I  formerly  happened  to  say  it  became  her. 


24  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

The  first  Sunday  in  particular  their  behavior  served  to  mor- 
tify me  :  I  had  desired  my  girls  the  preceding  night  to  be 
dressed  early  the  next  day ;  for  I  always  loved  to  be  at  church 
a  good  while  before  the  rest  of  the  congregation.  They  punc- 
tually obeyed  my  directions ;  but  when  we  were  to  assemble  in 
the  morning  at  breakfast,  down  came  my  wife  .and  daughters 
dressed  out  in  all  their  former  splendor :  their  hair  plastered 
up  with  pomatum,  their  faces  patched  to  taste,  their  trains 
bundled  up  in  a  heap  behind,  and  rustling  at  every  motion.  I 
could  not  help  smiling  at  their  vanity,  particularly  that  of  my 
wife,  from  whom  I  expected  more  discretion.  In  this  exigence, 
therefore,  my  only  resource  was  to  order  my  son,  with  an  im- 
portant air,  to  call  our  coach.  The  girls  were  amazed  at  the 
command  ;  but  I  repeated  it  with  .more  solemnity  than  before 
— "  Surely,  my  dear,  you  jest,"  cried  my  wife,  "  we  can  walk  it 
perfectly  well :  we  want  no  coach  to  carry  us  now."  "  You  mis- 
take, child,"  returned  I,  "we  do  want  a  coach  ;  for  if  we  walk 
to  church  in  this  trim,  the  very  children  in  the  parish  will  hoot 
after  us."  "Indeed,"  replied  my  wife,  "  I  always  imagined  that 
my  Charles  was  fond  of  seeing  his  children  neat  and  handsome 
about  him."  "  You  may  be  as  neat  as  you  please,"  interrupted 
I,  "  and  I  shall  love  you  the  better  for  it ;  but  all  this  is  not 
neatness,  but  frippery.  These  rufflings,  and  pinkings,  and 
patchings,  will  only  make  us  hated  by  all  the  wives  of  all  our 
neighbors.  No,  my  children,"  continued  I,  more  gravely 
"  those  gowns  may  be  altered  into  something  of  a  plainer  cut ; 
for  finery  is  very  unbecoming  in  us,  who  want  the  means  of 
decency.  I  do  not  know  whether  such  flouncing  and  shedding 
is  becoming  even  in  the  rich,  if  we  consider,  upon  a  moderate 
calculation,  that  the  nakedness  of  the  indigent  world  might  be 
clothed  from  the  trimmings  of  the  vain." 

This  remonstrance  had  the  proper  effect  ;  they  went  with 
great  composure,  that  very  instant,  to  change  their  dress  ;  and 
the  next  day  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  finding  my  daughters, 
at  their  own  request,  employed  in  cutting  up  their  trains  into 
Sunday  waistcoats  for  Dick  and  Bill,  the  two  little  ones,  and, 
what  was  still  more  satisfactory,  the  gowns  seemed  improved 
by  this  curtailing. 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  new  and  great  acquaintance  introduced. — What  we  place  most  hopes  upon,  gen- 
erally proves  most  fatal. 

AT  a  small  distance  from  the  house,  my  predecessor  had 
made  a  seat,  overshadowed  by  a  hedge  of  hawthorn  and  honey- 
suckle. Here,  when  the  weather  was  fine  and  our  labor  soon 
finished,  we  usually  sat  together,  to  enjoy  an  extensive  land- 
scape in  the  calm  of  the  evening.  Here  too  we  drank  tea 
which  was  now  become  an  occasional  banquet  ;  and  as  we  had 
it  but  seldom,  it  diffused  a  new  joy,  the  preparations  for  it  being 
made  with  no  small  share  of  bustle  and  ceremony.  On  these 
occasions  our  two  little  ones  always  read  to  us,  and  they  were 
regularly  served  after  we  had  done.  Sometimes,  to  give  a  vari- 
ety to  our  amusement,  the  girls  sang  to  the  guitar ;  and  while 
they  thus  formed  a  little  concert,  my  wife  and  I  would  stroll 
down  the  sloping  field,  that  was  embellished  with  blue-bells 
and  centaury,  talk  of  our  children  with  rapture,  and  enjoy  the 
breeze  that  wafted  both  health  and  harmony. 

In  this  manner  we  began  to  find  that  every  situation  in  life 
might  bring  its  own  peculiar  pleasures  :  every  morning  awakened 
us  to  a  repetition  of  toil ;  but  the  evening  repaid  it  with  vacant 
hilarity. 

It  was  about  the  beginning  of  autumn,  on  a  holiday,  for  I 
kept  such  as  intervals  of  relaxation  from  labor,  that  I  had 
drawn  out  my  family  to  our  usual  place  of  amusement,  and  our 
young  musicians  began  their  usual  concert.  As  we  were  thus 
engaged,  we  saw  a  stag  bound  nimbly  by,  within  about  twenty 
paces  of  where  we  were  sitting,  and  by  its  panting  seemed  pressed 
by  the  hunters.  We  had  not  much  time  to  reflect  upon  the  poor 
animal's  distress,  when  we  perceived  the  dogs  and  horsemen 
come  sweeping  along  at  some 'distance  behind,  and  making  the 
very  path  it  had  taken.  I  was  instantly  for  returning  with  my 
family  ;  but  either  curiosity,  or  surprise,  or  some  more  hidden 
motive,  held  my  wife  and  daughters  to  their  seats.  The  hunts- 
man, who  rode  foremost,  passed  us  with  great  swiftness,  fol- 
lowed by  four  or  five  persons  more  who  seemed  in  equal  haste. 
At  last  a  young  gentleman  of  a  more  genteel  appearance  than 
the  rest  came  forward,  and  for  a  while  regarding  us,  instead  of 
pursuing  the  chase,  stopped  short,  and  giving  his  horse  to  a 


2 6  VICAR  OF  WAKEFJELD. 

servant  who  attended,  approached  us  with  a  careless  superior 
air.  He  seemed  to  want  no  introduction,  but  was  going  to 
salute  my  daughters,  as  one  certain  of  a  kind  reception ;  but 
they  had  early  learned  the  lesson  of  looking  presumption  out 
of  countenance.  Upon  which  he  let  us  know  his  name  was 
Thornhill,  and  that  he  was  owner  of  the  estate  that  lay  for 
some  extent  around  us.  He  again  therefore  offered  to  salute 
the  female  part  of  the  family,  and  such  was  the  power  of  for-, 
tune  and  fine  clothes,  that  he  found  no  second  repulse.  As 
his  address,  though  confident,  was  easy,  we  soon  became  more 
familiar ;  and  perceiving  musical  instuments  lying  near,  he 
begged  to  be  favored  with  a  song.  As  I  did  not  approve  of  such 
disproportioned  acquaintances,  I  winked  upon  my  daughters 
in  order  to  prevent  their  compliance  ;  but  my  hint  was  coun- 
teracted by  one  from  their  mother  ;  so  that,  with  a  cheerful 
air,  they  gave  us  a  favorite  song  of  Dryden's.  Mr.  Thornhill 
seemed  highly  delighted  with  their  performance  and  choice, 
and  then  took  up  the  guitar  himself.  He  played  but  very  in- 
differently ;  however,  my  eldest  daughter  repaid  his  former 
applause  with  interest,  and  assured  him  that  his  tones  were 
louder  than  even  those  of  her  master.  At  this  compliment  he 
bowed,  which  she  returned  with  a  curtsey.  He  praised  her 
taste,  and  she  commended  his  understanding  :  an  age  could  not 
have  made  them  better  acquainted,  while  the  fond  mother,  too, 
equally  happy,  insisted  upon  her  landlord  stepping  in,  and 
tasting  a  glass  of  her  gooseberry.  The  whole  family  seemed 
earnest  to  please  him ;  my  girls  attempted  to  entertain  him 
with  topics  they  thought  most  modern,  while  Moses,  on  the 
contrary,  gave  him  a  question  or  two  from  the  ancients,  for 
which  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  being  laughed  at :  my  little 
ones  were  no  less  busy,  and  fondly  stuck  close  to  the  stranger. 
All  my  endeavors  could  scarcely  keep  their  dirty  fingers  from 
handling  and  tarnishing  the  lace  on  his  clothes,  and  lifting  up 
the  flaps  of  his  pocket-holes,  to  see  what  was  there.  At  the 
approach  of  evening  he  took  leave  ;  but  not  till  he  had  re- 
quested permission  to  renew  his  visit,  which,  as  he  was  our 
landlord,  we  most  readily  agreed  to. 

As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  my  wife  called  a  council  on  the 
conduct  of  the  day.  She  was  of  opinion,  that  it  was  a  most 
fortunate  hit ;  for  that  she  had  known  even  stranger  things  at 
last  brought  to  bear.  She  hoped  again  to  see  the  day  in  which 
we  might  hold  up  our  heads  with  the  best  of  them  ;  and  con- 
cluded, she  protested  she  could  see  no  reason  why  the  two 
Miss  Wrinkles  should  marry  great  fortunes,  and  her  children 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  27 

get  none.  As  this  last  argument  was  directed  to  me,  I  pro- 
tested I  could  see  no  reason  for  it  neither,  nor  why  Mr.  Sim- 
kins  got  the  ten  thousand  pound  prize  in  the  lottery,  and  we 
sat  down  with  a  blank.  "  I  protest,  Charles,"  cried  my  wife, 
"  this  is  the  way  you  always  damp  my  girls  and  me  when  we  are 
in  spirits.  Tell  me,  Sophy,  my  dear,  what  do  you  think  of  our 
new  visitor  ?  Don't  you  think  he  seemed  to  be  good-natured  ? " 
"  Immensely  so  indeed,  mamma,"  replied  she,  "I  think  he  has 
a  great  deal  to  say  upon  everything,  and  is  never  at  a  loss  ; 
and  the  more  trifling  the  subject,  the  more  he  has  to  say." 
"  Yes,"  cried  Olivia,  "  he  is  well  enough  for  a  man,  but  for  my 
part,  I  don't  much  like  him,  he  is  so  extremely  impudent  and 
familiar  ;  but  on  the  guitar  he  is  shocking."  These  two  last 
speeches  I  interpreted  by  contraries.  I  found  by  this,  that 
Sophia  internally  despised,  as  much  as  Olivia  secretly  admired 
him.  "  Whatever  may  be  your  opinions  of  him,  my  children," 
cried  I,  "  to  confess  the  truth  he  has  not  prepossessed  me  in 
his  favor.  Disproportioned  friendships  ever  terminate  in  dis- 
gust ;  and  I  thought,  notwithstanding  all  his  ease,  that  he 
seemed  perfectly  sensible  of  the  distance  between  us.  Let  us 
keep  to  companions  of  our  own  rank.  There  is  no  character 
more  contemptible  than  a  man  that  is  a  fortune-hunter  ;  and  I 
can  see  no  reason  why  fortune-hunting  women  should  not  be 
contemptible  too.  Thus,  at  best,  we  shall  be  contemptible  if 
his  views  be  honorable  ;  but  if  they  be  otherwise  !  I  should 
shudder  to  think  of  that.  It  is  true  I  have  no  apprehensions 
from  the  conduct  of  my  children,  but  I  think  there  are  some 
from  his  character."  I  would  have  proceeded,  but  for  the  in- 
terruption of  a  servant  from  the  'Squire,  who  with  his  compli- 
ments, sent  us  a  side  of  venison,  and  a  promise  to  dine  with  us 
some  days  after.  This  well-timed  present  pleaded  more  power- 
fully in  his  favor,  than  anything  I  had  to  say  could  obviate.  I 
therefore  continued  silent,  satisfied  with  just  having  pointed 
out  danger,  and  leaving  it  to  their  own  discretion  to  avoid  it. 
That  virtue  which  requires  to  be  ever  guarded  is  scarcely -worth 
the  sentinel. 


2g  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

The  Happiness  of  a  Country  Fireside. 

As  we  carried  on  the  former  dispute  with  some  degree  of 
warmth,  in  order  to  accommodate  matters,  it  was  universally 
agreed,  that  we  should  have  a  part  of  the  venison  for  supper ; 
and  the  girls  undertook  the  task  with  alacrity.  "  I  am  sorry," 
cried  I,  "  that  we  have  no  neighbor  or  stranger  to  take  a  part 
in  this  good  cheer  :  feasts  of  this  kind  acquire  a  double  relish 
from  hospitality."  "  Bless  me,"  cried  my  wife,  "  here  comes 
our  good  friend  Mr.  Burchell,  that  saved  our  Sophia,  and  that 
run  you  down  fairly  in  the  argument."  "  Confute  me  in  argu- 
ment, child  !  "  cried  I.  "  You  mistake  there,  my  dear  :  I  believe 
there  are  abilities  at  making  a  goose-pie,  and  I  beg  you'll  leave 
argument  to  me."  As  I  spoke,  poor  Mr.  Burchell  entered  the 
house,  and  was  welcomed  by  the  family,  who  shook  him 
heartily  by  the  hand,  while  little  Dick  officiously  reached  him  a 
chair. 

I  was  pleased  with  the  poor  man's  friendship  for  two  rea- 
sons ;  because  I  knew  that  he  wanted  mine,  and  I  knew  him 
to  be  friendly  as  far  as  he  was  able.  He  was  known  in  our 
neighborhood  by  the  character  of  the  poor  gentleman  that 
would  do  no  good  when  he  was  young,  though  he  was  not  yet 
thirty.  He  would  at  intervals  talk  with  great  good  sense  ;  but 
in  general  he^was  fondest  of  the  company  of  children,  whom 
he  used  to  call  harmless  little  men.  He  was  famous,  I  found, 
for  singing  them  ballads,  and  telling  them  stories  ;  and  seldom 
went  out  without  something  in  his  pockets  for  them  ;  a  piece 
of  gingerbread,  or  a  halfpenny  whistle.  He  generally  came 
for  a  few  days  into  our  neighborhood  once  a  year,  and  lived 
upon  the  neighbors'  hospitality.  He  sat  down  to  supper 
among  us,  and  my  wife  was  not  sparing  of  her  gooseberry- 
wine.  The  tale  went  round ;  he  sang  us  old  songs,  and 
gave  the  children  the  story  of  the  Buck  of  Beverland,  with  the 
history  of  Patient  Grissel,  the  adventures  of  Catskin,  and  then 
Fair  Rosamond's  Bower.  Our  cock,  which  always  crew  at 
eleven,  now  told  us  it  was  time  for  repose ;  but  an  unforeseen 
difficulty  started  about  lodging  the  stranger — all  our  beds  were 
already  taken  up,  and  it  was  too  late  to  send  him  to  the  next 
alehouse.  In  this  dilemma  little  Dick  offered  him  his  part  of 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


29 


the  bed,  if  his  brother  Moses  would  let  him  lie  with  him  : 
"And  I,"  cried  Bill,  "will  give  Mr.  Burchell  my  part,  if  my 
sisters  will  take  me  to  theirs."  "  Well  done,  my  good  chil- 
dren," cried  I,  "hospitality  is  one  of  the  first  Christian  duties. 
The  beast  retires  to  its  shelter,  and  the  bird  Hies  to  its  nest  $ 
but  helpless  man  can  only  find  refuge  from  his  fellow-creature. 
The  greatest  stranger  in  this  world,  was  he  that  came  to  save 
it.  He  never  had  a  house,  as  if  willing  to  see  what  hospitality 
was  left  remaining  amongst  us.  Deborah,  my  dear,"  cried  I 
to  my  wife,  "give  those  boys  a  lump  of  sugar  each,  and  let 
Dick's  be  the  largest,  because  he  spoke  first." 

In  the  morning  early  I  called  out  my  whole  family  to  help 
at  saving  an  after-growth  of  hay,  and  our  guest  offering  his  as- 
sistance, he  was  accepted  amongst  the  number.  Our  labors 
went  on  lightly,  we  turned  the  swath  to  the  wind.  I  went  fore- 
most, and  the  rest  followed  in  due  succession.  I  could  not 
avoid,  however,  observing  the  assiduity  of  Mr.  Burchell  in  as- 
sisting my  daughter  Sophia  in  her  part  of  the  task.  When  he 
had  finished  his  own,  he  would  join  in  her's,  and  enter  into  a 
close  conversation  :  but  I  had  too  good  an  opinion  of  Sophia's 
understanding,  and  was  too  well  convinced  of  her  ambition, 
to  be  under  any  uneasiness  from  a  man  of  broken  fortune. 
When  we  were  finished  for  the  day,  Mr.  Burchell  was  invited 
as  on  the  night  before ;  but  he  refused,  as  he  was  to  lie  that 
night  at  a  neighbor's  to  whose  child  he  was  carrying  a  whistle. 
When  gone,  our  conversation  at  supper  turned  upon  our  late 
unfortunate  guest. 

"  What  a  strong  instance,"  said  I,  "  is  that  poor  man  of 
the  miseries  attending  a  youth  of  levity  and  extravagance.  He 
by  no  means  wants  sense,  which  only  serves  to  aggravate  his 
former  folly.  Poor  forlorn  creature,  where  are  now  the  revel- 
lers, the  flatterers,  that  he  could  once  inspire  and  command  ! 
Gone,  perhaps,  to  attend  the  bagnio  pander,  grown  rich  by 
his  extravagance.  They  once  praised  him,  and  now  they  ap- 
plaud the  pander :  their  former  raptures  at  his  wit  are  now 
converted  into  sarcasms  at  his  folly :  he  is  poor,  and  perhaps 
deserves  poverty;  for  he  has  neither  the  ambition  to  be  inde- 
pendent, nor  the  skill  to  be  useful.  Prompted  perhaps  by 
some  secret  reasons,  I  delivered  this  observation  with  too 
much  acrimony,  which  my  Sophia  gently  reproved.  "  Whatso- 
ever his  former  conduct  may  have  been,  papa,  his  circumstances 
should  exempt  him  from  censure  now.  His  present  indigence 
is  a  sufficient  punishment  for  former  folly  ;  and  I  have  heard 
my  papa  himself  say,  that  we  should  never  strike  an  unneces- 


30  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

sary  blow  at  a  victim  over  whom  Providence  holds  the  scourge 
of  itsVesentment."  "  You  are  right,  Sophy,"  cried  my  son 
Moses,  "  and  one  of  the  ancients  finely  represents  so  mali- 
cious a  conduct,  by  the  attempts  of  a  rustic  to  flay  Marsyas, 
whose  skin,  the  fable  tells  us,  had  been  wholly  stripped  off  by 
another.  Besides,  I  don't  know  if  this  poor  man's  situation  is 
so  bad  as  my  father  would  represent  it.  We  are  not  to  judge 
of  the  feelings  of  others  by  what  we  might  feel  if  in  their  place. 
However  dark  the  habitation  of  the  mole  to  our  eyes,  yet  the 
animal  itself  finds  the  apartment  sufficiently  lightsome.  And 
to  confess  a  truth,  this  man's  mind  seems  fitted  to  his  station  : 
for  I  never  heard  any  one  more  sprightly  than  he  was  to-day, 
when  he  conversed  with  you."  This  was  said  without  the 
least  design  ;  however,  it  excited  a  blush,  which  she  strove  to 
cover  by  an  affected  laugh,  assuring  him,  that  she  scarcely 
took  any  notice  of  what  he  said  to  her ;  but  that  she  believed 
he  might  once  have  been  a  very  fine  gentleman.  The  readi- 
ness with  which  she  undertook  to  vindicate  herself,  and  her 
blushing,  were  symptoms  I  did  not  internally  approve ;  but  I 
repressed  my  suspicions. 

As  we  expected  our  landlord  next  day,  my  wife  went  to 
make  the  venison  pastry.  Moses  sat  reading,  while  I  taught 
the  little  ones  :  my  daughter  seemed  equally  busy  with  the  rest ; 
and  I  observed  them  for  a  good  while  cooking  something  over 
the  fire.  I  at  first  supposed  that  they  were  assisting  their 
mother ;  hut  little  Dick  informed  me  in  a  whisper,  that  they 
were  making  a  wash  for  the  face.  Washes  of  all  kinds  I  had 
a  natural  antipathy  to  ;  for  I  knew  that  instead  of  mending  the 
complexion  they  spoiled  it.  I  therefore  approached  my  chair- 
by  slow  degrees  to  the  fire,  and  grasping  the  poker,  as  if  it 
wanted  mending,  seemingly  by  accident  overturned  the  whole 
composition,  and  it  was  too  late  to  begin  another. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A  Town-wit  described — The  dullest  fellows  may  learn  to  be  comical  for  a  night  or  two. 

WHEN  the  morning  arrived  on  which  we  were  to  entertain 
our  young  landlord,  it  may  be  easily  supposed  what  provisions 
were  exhausted  to  make  an  appearance. .  It  may  also  be  con- 
jectured that  mv  wife  and  daughters  expanded  their  gayest 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  3, 

plumage  upon  this  occasion.  Mr.  Thornhill  came  with  a  couple 
of  his  friends,  his  chaplain  and  feeder.  The  servants,  who 
were  numerous,  he  politely  ordered  to  the  next  alehouse,  but 
my  wife,  in  the  triumph  of  her  heart,  insisted  on  entertaining 
them  all ;  for  which  by  the  by,  our  family  was  pinched  for  three 
weeks  after.  As  Mr.  Burchell  had  hinted  to  us  the  day  before, 
that  he  was  making  some  proposals  of  marriage  to  Miss  Wilmot, 
my  son  George's  former  mistress,  this  a  good  deal  damped  the 
heartiness  of  his  reception  ;  but  accident  in  some  measure  re- 
lieved our  embarrassment ;  for  one  of  the  company  happening 
to  mention  her  name,  Mr.  Thornhill  observed  with  an  oath, 
that  he  never  knew  anything  more  absurd  than  calling  such  a 
fright  a  beauty :  "  For  strike  me  ugly,"  continued  he,  "  if  I 
should  not  find  as  much  pleasure  in  choosing  my  mistress  by 
the  information  of  a  lamp  under  the  clock  at  St.  Dunstan's." 
At  this  he  laughed,  and  so  did  we  : — the  jests  of  the  rich  are 
ever  successful.  Olivia,  too,  could  not  avoid  whispering  loud 
enough  to  be  heard,  that  he  had  an  infinite  fund  of  humor. 

After  dinner,  I  began  with  my  usual  toast,  the  Church ;  for 
this  I  was  thanked  by  the  chaplain,  as  he  said  the  Church  was 
the  only  mistress  of  his  affections.  "  Come,  tell  us  honestly, 
Frank,"  said  the  'Squire,  with  his  usual  archness,  "  suppose  the 
Church,  your  present  mistress,  dressed  in  lawn  sleeves,  on  one 
hand,  and  Miss  Sophia,  with  no  lawn  about  her,  on  the  other, 
which  would  you  be  for  ?  "  "  For  both,  to  be  sure,"  cried  the 
chaplain.  "  Right,  Frank,"  cried  the  'Squire,  "  for  may  this 
glass  suffocate  me,  but  a  fine  girl  is  worth  all  the  priestcraft  in 
the  creation.  For  what  are  tithes  and  tricks  but  an  imposition, 
all  a  confounded  imposture,  and  I  can  prove  it."  "  I  wish  you 
would,"  cried  my  son  Moses ;  "  and  I  think,"  continued  he, 
"  that  I  should  be  able  to  answer  you."  "Very  well,  sir,"  cried 
the  'Squire,  who  immediately  smoked  him,  and  winking  on  the 
rest  of  the  company  to  prepare  us  for  the  sport,  "if  you  are 
for  a  cool  argument  upon  that  subject,  I  am  ready  to  accept 
the  challenge.  And  first,  whether  are  you  for  managing  it  ana- 
logically or  dialogically  ?  "  "I  am  for  managing  it  rationally," 
cried  Moses,  quite  happy  at  being  permitted  to  dispute. 
"  Good  again,"  cried  the  'Squire,  "  and  firstly,  of  the  first :  I 
hope  you'll  not  deny,  that  whatever  is,  is.  If  you  don't  grant 
'  me  that,  I  can  go  no  farther."  "  Why,"  returned  Moses,  "  I 
think  I  may  grant  that,  and  make  the  best  of  it."  "  I  hope 
too,"  returned  the  other,  "  you'll  grant  that  a  part  is  less  than 
the  whole."  "  I  grant  that  too,"  cried  Moses,  "  it  is  but  just 
and  reasonable."  "  I  hope,"  cried  the  'Squire,  "  you'll  not  deny 
that  the  two  angles  of  a  triangle  are  equal  to  two  right  ones," 


32  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

* 

"  Nothing  can  be  plainer,"  returned  t'other,  and  looked  round 
with  his  usual  importance.  "  Very  well,"  cried  the  'Squire, 
speaking  very  quick,  the  premises  being -thus  settled,  I  proceed 
fo  observe,  that  the  concatenation  of  self-existence,  proceeding 
in  a  reciprocal  duplicate  ratio,  naturally  produce  a  problematic 
dialogism,  which  in  some  measure  proves  that  the  essence  of 
spirituality  may  be  referred  to  the  second  predicable."  "  Hold, 
hold,"  cried  the  other,  "  I  deny  that  :  Do  you  think  I  can  thus 
tamely  submit  to  such  heterodox  doctrines  ?  "  "  What !  "  re- 
plied the  'Squire,  as  if  in  a  passion,  "  not  submit !  Answer  me 
one  plain  question  :  Do  you  think  Aristotle  right  when  he  says, 
that  relatives  are  related  ? "  "  Undoubtedly,"  replied  the  other. 
"  If  so,  then,"  cried  the  'Squire,  "  answer  me  directly  to  what 
I  propose  :  Whether  do  you  judge  the  analytical  investigation 
of  the  first  part  of  my  enthymem  deficient  secundum  quoad,  or 
quoad  minus,  and  give  me  your  reasons  :  give  me  your  reasons 
I  say,  directly."  "  I  protest,"  cried  Moses,  "  I  don't  rightly 
comprehend  the  force  of  your  reasoning :  but  if  it  be  reduced 
to  one  simple  proposition,  I  fancy  that  it  may  then  have  an 
answer."  "  O  sir,"  cried  the  Squire,  "  I  am  your  most  humble 
servant ;  I  find  you  want  me  to  furnish  you  with  argument  and 
intellects  too.  No,  sir,  there  I  protest  you  are  too  hard  for  me." 
This  effectually  raised  the  laugh  against  poor  Moses,  who  sat 
the  only  dismal  figure  in  a  group  of  merry  faces  ;  nor  did  he 
offer  a  single  syllable  more  during  the  whole  entertainment. 

But  though  all  this  gave  me  no  pleasure,  it  had  a  very  dif- 
ferent effect  upon  Olivia,  who  mistook  it  for  humor,  though 
but  a  mere  act  of  the  memory.  She  thought  him  therefore  a 
very  fine  gentlemen  ;  and  such  as  consider  what  powerful  in- 
gredients a  good  figure,  fine  clothes,  and  fortune  are  in  that 
character,  will  easily  forgive  her.  Mr.  Thornhill,  notwithstand- 
ing his  real  ignorance,  talked  with  ease,  and  could  expatiate 
upon  the  common  topics  of  conversation  with  fluency.  It  is 
not  surprising  then  that  such  talents  should  win  the  affections 
of  a  girl,  who  by  education  was  taught  to  value  an  appearance 
in  herself,  and  consequently  to  set  a  value  upon  it  in  another. 

Upon  his  departure,  we  again  entered  into  a  debate  upon 
the  merits  of  our  young  landlord.  As  he  directed  his  looks 
and  conversation  to  Olivia,  it  was  no  longer  doubted  but 
that  she  was  the  object  that  induced  him  to  be  our  visitor? 
Nor  did  she  seem  to  be  much  displeased  at  the  innocent  rail- 
lery of  her  brother  and  sister  upon  this  occasion.  Even  Deb- 
orah herself  seemed  to  share  the  glory  of  the  day,  and  exulted 
in  her  daughter's  victory  as  if  it  were  her  own.  "  And  now,  my 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  33 

dear,"  cried  she  to  me,  "  I'll  fairly  own,  that,  it  was  I  that  in- 
structed my  girls  to  encourage  our  landlord's  addresses.  I  had 
always  some  ambition,  and  you  now  see  that  I  was  right ;  for 
who  knows  how  this  may  end  ?  "  "  Ay,  who  knows  that  indeed  ! " 
answered  I,  with  a  groan  :  "  For  my  part,  I  don't  much  like  it ; 
and  I  could  have  been  better  pleased  with  one  that  was  poor 
and  honest,  than  this  fine  gentleman  with  his  fortune  and  in- 
fidelity ;  for  depend  on't,  if  he  be  what  I  suspect  him,  no  free- 
thinker shall  ever  have  a  child  of  mine." 

"  Sure,  father,"  cried  Moses,  "  you  are  too  severe  in  this 
for  heaven  will  never  arraign  him  for  what  he  thinks,  but 
for  what  he  does.  Every  man  has  a  thousand  vicious  thoughts, 
which  arise  without  his  power  to  suppress.  Thinking  freely  of 
religion  may  be  involuntary  with  this  gentleman  ;  so  that  al- 
lowing his  sentiments  to  be  wrong,  yet  as  he  is  purely  passive 
in  his  assent,  he  is  no  more  to  be  blamed  for  his  errors,  than 
the  governor  of  a  city  without  walls  for  the  shelter  he  is  obliged 
to  afford  an  invading  enemy." 

"  True,  my  son,"  cried  I ;  "  but  if  the  governor  invites  the 
enemy  there,  he  is  justly  culpable.  And  such  is  always  the 
case  with  those  who  embrace  error.  The  vice  does  not  lie  in 
assenting  to  the  proofs  they  see  ;  but  in  being  blind  to  many  of 
the  proofs  that  offer.  So  that,  though  our  erroneous  opinions 
be  involuntary  when  formed,  yet  as  we  have  been  wilfully  cor- 
rupt, or  very  negligent  in  forming  them,  we  deserve  punishment 
for  our  vice,  or  contempt  for  our  folly." 

My  wife  now  kept  up  the  conversation,  though  not  the  ar- 
gument ;  she  observed,  that  several  very  prudent  men  of  our 
acquaintance  were  free-thinkers,  and  made  very  good  husbands; 
and  she  knew  some  sensible  girls  that  had  skill  enough  to  make 
converts  of  their  spouses  :  "  And  who  knows,  my  dear,"  con- 
tinued she,  "  what  Olivia  may  be  able  to  do.  The  girl  has  a 
great  deal  to  say  upon  every  subject,  and  to  my  knowledge  is 
very  well  skilled  in  controversy." 

"  Why,  my  dear,  what  controversy  can  she  have  read  ? " 
cried  I  "  It  does  not  occur  to  me  that  I  ever  put  such  books 
in  her  hands:  you  certainly  overrate  her  merit."  "Indeed 
papa,"  replied  Olivia,  "  she  does  not ;  I  have  read  the  disputes 
between  Thwackum  and  Square ;  the  controversy  between 
Robinson  Crusoe  and  Friday  the  savage,  and  am  now  employed 
in  reading  the  controversy  on  Religious  Courtship."  "Very 
well,"  cried  I,  "  that's  a  good  girl  ;  I  find  you  are  perfectly 
qualified  for  making  converts  ;  and  so  go  help  your  mother  to. 
make  the  gooseberry  pie." 


34  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD, 

< 

CHAPTER  VIIJ 

An  amour  which  promises  little  good  fortune,  yet  may  be  productive  of  much. 

THE  next  morning  we  were  again  visited  by  Mr.  Burchell, 
though  I  began,  for  certain  reasons,  to  be  displeased  with  the 
frequency  of  his  return  but  I  could  not  refuse  him  my  com- 
pany and  my  fireside.  It  is  true,  his  labor  more  than  requited 
his  entertainment :  for  he  wrought  among  us  with  vigor,  and 
either  in  the  meadow  or  at  the  hay-rick  put  himself  foremost. 
Besides,  he  had  always  something  amusing  to  say  that  lessened 
our  toil,  and  was  at  once  so  out  of  the  way,  and  yet  so  sensible, 
that  I  loved,  laughed  at,  and  pitied  him.  My  only  dislike  arose 
from  an  attachment  he  discovered  to  my  daughter ;  he  would, 
in  a  jesting  manner,  call  her  his  little  mistress,  and  when  he 
bought  each  of  the  girls  a  set  of  ribbons,  hers  was  the  finest. 
I  knew  not  how,  but  he  every  day  seemed  to  become  more  ami- 
able, his  wit  to  improve,  and  his  simplicity  to  assume  the 
superior  airs  of  wisdom. 

Our  family  dined  in  the  field,  and  we  sat,  or  rather  reclined 
round  a  temperate  repast,  our  cloth  spread  upon  the  hay, 
while  Mr.  Burchell  gave  cheerfulness  to  the  feast.  To  heighten 
our  satisfaction,  two  blackbirds  answered  each  other  from 
opposite  hedges,  the  familiar  red-breast  came  and  pecked 
the  crumbs  from  our  hands,  and  every  one  seemed  but  the 
echo  of  tranquillity.  "  I  never  sit  thus,"  says  Sophia,  "  but  I 
think  of  the  two  lovers  so  sweetly  described  by  Mr.  Gay,  who 
were  struck  dead  in  each  other's  arms.  There  is  something  so 
pathetic  in  the  description,  that  I  have  read  it  a  hundred  times 
with  new  rapture." — "  In  my  opinion,"  cried  my  son,  "  the 
finest  strokes  in  that  description  are  much  below  those  in  the 
Acis  and  Galatea  of  Ovid.  The  Roman  poet  understands  the 
use  of  contrast  better  :  and  upon  that  figure  artfully  managed, 
all  strength  in  the  pathetic  depends." — "  It  is  remarkable," 
cried  Mr  Burchell,  "  that  both  the  poets  you  mention  have 
equally  contributed  to  introduce  a  false  taste  into  their  re- 
spective countries,  by  loading  all  their  lines  with  epithet. 
Men  of  little  genius  found  them  most  easily  imitated  in  their 
defects  and  English  poetry,  like  that  in  the  latter  empire  of 
Rome,  is  nothing  at  present  but  a  combination  of  luxuriant 
images,  without  plot  or  connexion ;  a  string  of  epithets  that 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  35 

improve  the  sound,  without  carrying  on  the  sense.  But  per- 
haps,  madam,  while  I  thus  reprehend  others,  you'll  think  it 
just  that  I  should  give  them  an  opportunity  to  retaliate,  and 
indeed  I  have  made  this  remark  only  to  have  an  opportunity 
of  introducing  to  the  company  a  ballad,  which,  whatever  be  its 
other  defects,  is,  I  think,  at  least  free  from  those  I  have  men- 
tioned." 

A  BALLAD. 

"  TURN,  gentle  hermit  of  the  dale, 

And  guide  my  lonely  way, 
To  where  yon  taper  cheers  the  vale 
With  hospitable  ray. 

"  For  here  forlorn  and  lost  I  tread, 

With  fainting  steps  and  slow ; 
Where  wilds  immeasurably  spread 
Seem  length'ning  as  I  go." 

"  Forbear,  my  son,"  the  hermit  cries, 

"  To  tempt  the  dangerous  gloom; 
For  yonder  faithless  phantom  flies 
To  lore  thee  to  thy  doom. 

"  Here  to  the  houseless  child  of  want 

My  door  is  open  still  ; 
And  though  my  portion  is  but  scant, 
I  give  it  with  good  will. 

"  Then  turn  to-night,  and  freely  share 

Whate'er  my  cell  bestows  ; 
My  rushy  couch  and  frugal  fare, 
My  blessing  and  repose. 

"  No  flocks  that  range  the  valley  free, 

To  slaughter  I  condemn; 
Taught  by  that  power  that  pities  me, 
I  learn  to  pity  them  : 

"  But  from  the  mountain's  grassy  side 

A  guiltless  feast  I  bring ; 
A  scrip  with  herbs  and  fruits  supplied, 
And  water  from  the  spring. 

"  Then,  pilgrim,  turn,  thy  cares  forego ; 

All  earth-born  cares  are  wrong ; 
Man  wants  but  little  here  below, 
Nor  wants  that  little  long." 

Soft  as  the  dew  from  heaven  descends, 

His  gentle  accents  fell  : 
The  modest  stranger  lowly  bends, 

And  follows  to  the  cell. 


36  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

Far  in  a  wilderness  obscure 
The  lonely  mansion  lay  : 

A  refuge  to  the  neighb'ring  poor 
And  strangers  led  astray. 

No  stores  beneath  its  humble  thatch 
Required  a  master's  care  ; 

The  wicket  opening   with  a  latch 
Received  the  harmless  pair. 

And  now,  when  busy  crowds  retire 

To  take  their  evening  rest, 
The  hermit  trimm'd  his  little  fire, 
\nd  cheered  his  pensive  guest : 

And  spread  his  vegetable  store, 
And  gayly  press'd,  and  smiled; 

And,  skill'd  in  legendary  lore, 
The  lingering  hours  beguiled. 

Around  in  sympathetic  mirth 
Its  tricks  the  kitten  tries, 

The  cricket  chirrups  in  the  hearth, 
The  crackling  faggot  flies. 

But  nothing  could  a  charm  impart 
To  soothe  the  stranger's  woe ; 

For  grief  was  heavy  at  his  heart, 
And  tears  began  to  flow. 

His  rising  cares  the  hermit  spied, 
With  answering  care  oppress'd  : 
"  And  whence,  unhappy  youth,"  he  cried, 
"  The  sorrows  of  thy  breast  ? 

"  From  better  habitations  spurn' cl, 

Reluctant  dost  thou  rove  ? 
Or  grieve  for  friendship  unreturn'd, 
Or  unregarded  love  ? 

"  Alas !  the  joys  that  fortune  brings, 

Are  trifling,  and  decay  ; 
And  those  who  prize  the  paltry  tnmgs, 
More  trifling  still  than  they. 

"  And  what  is  friendship  but  a  name 

A  charm  that  lulls  to  sleep ; 
A  shade  that  follows  wealth  or  fame, 
But  leaves  the  wretch  to  weep  ? 

"  And  love  is  still  an  emptier  sound 

The  modern  fair  one's  jest ; 

On  earth  unseen,  or  only  found. 

To  warm  the  turtle's  nest, 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  37 

"For  shame,  fond  youth,  thy  sorrows  hush, 

And  spurn  the  sex,"  he  said  ; 

But  while  he  spoke,  a  rising  flush 

His  love-lorn  guest  betray'd. 

Surprised  he  sees  new  beauties  rise, 

Swift  mantling  to  the  view  ; 
Like  colors  o'er  the  morning  skies, 

As  bright,  as  transient  too. 

The  bashful  look,  the  rising  breast,    . 

Alternate  spread  alarms  : 
The  lovely  stranger  stands  confest 

A  maid  in  all  her  charms. 

"  And  ah  !  forgive  a  stranger  rude, 

A  wretch  forlorn,"  she  cried ; 
"Whose  feet  unhallow'd  thus  intrude 

Where  heaven  and  you  reside. 

"But  let  a  maid  thy  pity  share, 

Whom  love  has  taught  to  stray, 
Who  seeks  for  rest,  but  finds  despair 
Companion  of  her  way. 

"  My  father  lived  beside  the  Tyne, 

A  wealthy  lord  was  he  ; 
And  all  his  wealth  was  mark'd  as  mine 
He  had  but  only  me. 

"  To  win  me  from  his  tender  arms, 

Unnumber'd  suitors  came ; 
Who  praised  me  for  imputed  charms, 
And  felt,  or  feign'd  a  flame. 

"  Each  hour  a  mercenary  crowd 
W   h  richest  proffers  strove  . 
Amongst  the  rest  young  Edwin  bow'd, 
But  never  talk'd  of  love. 

"In  humble,  simplest  habit  clad, 

No  wealth  nor  power  had  he , 
Wisdom  and  worth  were  all  he  had, 
But  these  were  all  to  me. 

"  And  when  beside  me  in  the  dale, 

He  carol'd  lays  of  love, 
His  breath  lent  fragrance  to  the  gale 
And  music  to  the  grove. 

"The  blossom  opening  to  the  day, 

The  dews  of  Heaven  refined, 
Could  naught  of  purity  display 
To  emulate  his  mind. 


38  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

"  The  dew,  the  blossom  on  the  tree 
With  charms  inconstant  shine ; 
Their  charms  were  his,  but  woe  to  me  I 
Their  constancy  was  mine. 

"  For  still  I  tried  each  fickle  art, 

Importunate  and  vain ; 
And  while  his  passion  touch'd  my  heart, 
I  triumph'd  in  his  pain  : 

"  Till  quite  dejected  with  my  scorn, 

He  left  me  to  my  pride ; 
And  sought  a  solitude  forlorn,    ' 
In  secret,  where  he  died. 

"  But  mine  the  sorrow,  mine  the  fault, 

And  well  my  life  shall  pay ; 
I'll  seek  the  solitude  he  sought, 
And  stretch  me  where  he  lay. 

"And  there  forlorn,  despairing,  hid, 

I'll  lay  me  down  and  die  ; 
'Twas  so  for  me  that  Edwin  did, 
And  so  for  him  will  I." 

"  Forbid  it,  Heaven  !  "  the  Hermit  cried. 

And  clasp'd  her  to  his  breast ; 
The  wondering  fair  one  turn'd  to  chide—* 
'Twas  Edwin's  self  that  press'd. 

"  Turn,  Angelina,  ever  dear, 
My  charmer,  turn  to  see 
Thy  own,  thy  long-lost  Edwin  here. 
Restored  to  love  and  thee. 

"  Thus  let  me  hold  thee  to  my  heart, 

And  every  care  resign ; 
And  shall  we  never,  never  part, 
My  life — my  all  that's  mine  ? 

"  No,  never  from  this  hour  to  part, 

We'll  live  and  love  so  true  ; 
The  sigh  that  rends  thy  constant  heart 
Shall  break  thy  Edwin's  too." 

While  this  ballad  was  reading,  Sophia  seemed  to  mix  an 
air  of  tenderness  with  her  approbation.  But  our  tranquillity 
was  soon  disturbed  by  the  report  of  a  gun  just  by  us,  and  im- 
mediately after  a  man  was  seen  bursting  through  the  hedge,  to 
take  up  the  game  he  had  killed.  This  sportsman  was  the 
'Squire's  chaplain,  who  had  shot  one  of  the  blackbirds  that  so 
agreeably  entertained  us.  So  loud  a  report  and  so  near, 
startled  my  daughters  ;  and  I  could  perceive  that  Sophia  in  her 
fright  had  thrown  herself  into  Mr.  Burchell's  arms  for  protec- 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  39 

tion.  The  gentleman  came  up,  and  asked  pardon  for  having 
disturbed  us,  affirming  that  he  was  ignorant  of  our  being  so 
near.  He  therefore  sat  down  by  my  youngest  daughter,  and 
sportsman-like,  offered  her  what  he  had  killed  that  morning. 
She  was  going  to  refuse,  but  a  private  look  from  her  mother 
soon  induced  her  to  correct  the  mistake,  and  accept  his  present, 
though  with  some  reluctance.  My  wife,  as  usual,  discovered 
her  pride  in  a  whisper,  observing  that  Sophy  had  made  a  con- 
quest of  the  chaplain,  as  well  as  her  sister  had  of  the  'Squire. 
I  suspected,  however,  with  more  probability,  that  her  affections 
were  placed  upon  a  different  object.  The  chaplain's  errand 
was  to  inform  us,  that  Mr.  Thornhill  had  provided  music  and 
refreshments,  and  intended  that  night  giving  the  young  ladies 
a  ball  by  moon-light,  on  the  grassplot  before  our  door.  "  Nor 
can  I  deny,"  continued  he,  "  that  I  have  an  interest  in  being 
first  to  deliver  this  message,  as  1  expect  for  my  reward  to  be 
honored  with  Miss  Sophy's  hand  as  a  partner."  To  this  my 
girl  replied,  that  she  should  have  no  objection  if  she  could  do 
it  with  honor  :  "  But  here,"  continued  she,  "  is  a  gentleman," 
looking  at  Mr.  Burchell,  "  who  has  been  my  companion  in  the 
task  for  the  day,  and  it  is  fit  he  should  share  its  amusements." 
Mr.  Burchell  returned  her  a  compliment  for  her  intentions  :  but 
resigned  her  up  to  the  chaplain,  adding  that  he  was  to  go  that 
night  five  miles,  being  invited  to  a  harvest  supper.  His  refusal 
appeared  to  me  a  little  extraordinary ;  nor  could  I  perceive 
how  so  sensible  a  girl  as  my  youngest,  could  thus  prefer  a 
man  of  broken  fortunes  to  one  whose  expectations  were  much 
greater.  But  as  men  are  most  capable  of  distinguishing  merit 
in  women,  so  the  ladies  often  form  the  truest  judgment  of  us. 
The  two  sexes  seem  placed  as  spies  upon  each  other,  and 
are  furnished  with  different  abilities,  adapted  for  mutual  in- 
spection. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Two  ladles  of  great  distinction  introduced — Superior  finery  ever  seems  to  confei 
superior  breeding. 

MR.  BURCHELL  had  scarcely  taken  leave,  and  Sophia  con- 
sented to  dance  with,  the  chaplain,  when  my  little  ones  came 
running  out  to  tell  us,  that  the  'Squire  was  come  with  a  crowd  of 


4<>  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD 

company.  Upon  our  return,  we  found  our  landlord,  with  a 
couple  of  under  gentlemen  and  two  young  ladies  richly  dressed, 
whom  he  introduced  as  women  of  very  great  distinction  and 
fashion  from  town.  We  happened  not  to  have  chairs  enough 
for  the  whole  company  ;  but  Mr.  Thornhill  immediately  pro- 
posed that  every  gentleman  should  sit  in  a  lady's  lap.  This  I 
positively  objected  to,  notwithstanding  a  look  of  approbation 
from  my  wife.  Moses  was  therefore  despatched  to  borrow  a 
couple  of  chairs  ;  and  as  we  were  in  want  of  ladies  to  make  up 
a  set  at  country  dances,  the  two  gentlemen  went  with  him  in 
quest  of  a  couple  of  partners.  Chairs  and  partners  were  soon 
provided.  The  gentlemen  returned  with  my  neighbor  Flam- 
borough's  rosy  daughters,  flaunting  with  red  top-knots  ;  but  an 
unlucky  circumstance  was  not  adverted  to — though  the  Miss 
Flamboroughs  were  reckoned  the  very  best  dancers  in  the  par- 
ish, and  understood  the  jig  and  round-about  to  perfection,  yet 
they  were  totally  unacquainted  with  country  dances.  This  at 
first  discomposed  us  :  however,  after  a  little  shoving  and  drag- 
ging, they  at  least  went  merrily  on.  Our  music  consisted  of 
two  fiddles,  with  a  pipe  and  tabor.  The  moon  shone  bright. 
Mr.  Thornhill  and  my  eldest  daughter  led  up  the  ball,  to  the 
great  delight  of  the  spectators  ;  for  the  neighbors,  hearing  what 
was  going  forward,  came  flocking  about  us.  ~  My  girl  moved 
with  so  much  grace  and  vivacity,  that  my  wife  could  not  avoid 
discovering  the  pride  of  her  heart,  by  assuring  me  that  though 
the  little  chit  did  it  so  cleverly,  all  the  steps  were  stolen  from 
herself.  The  ladies  of  the  town  strove  hard  to  be  equally  easy, 
but  without  success.  They  swam,  sprawled,  languished,  and 
frisked  ;  but  all  would  not  do  :  the  gazers  indeed  owned  that  it 
was  fine  ;  but  neighbor  Flamborough  observed,  that  Miss  Livy's 
feet  seemed  as  pat  to  the  music  as  its  echo.  After  the  dance 
had  continued  about  an  hour,  the  two  ladies  who  were  appre- 
hensive of  catching  cold,  moved  to  break  up  the  ball.  One  of 
them,  I  thought,  expressed  her  sentiments  upon  this  occasion 
in  a  very  coarse  manner,  when  she  observed,  that,  by  the  living 
jingo  she  was  all  of  a  muck  of  sweat.  Upon  our  return  to  the 
house,  we  found  a  very  elegant  cold  supper,  which  Mr.  Thorn- 
hill  had  ordered  to  be  brought  with  him.  The  conversation  at 
this  time  was  more  reserved  than  before.  The  two  ladies 
threw  my  girls  quite  into  the  shade  ;  for  they  would  talk  of 
nothing  but  high  life,  and  high-lived  company  ;  with  other 
fashionable  topics,  such  as  pictures,  taste,  Shakspeare,  and  the 
musical  glasses.  'Tis  true  they  once  or  twice  mortified  us 
sensibly  by  slipping  out  an  oath  ;  but  that  appeared  to  me  as 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  41 

the  surest  symptom  of  their  distinction  (though  I  am  since  in- 
formed that  swearing  is  perfectly  unfashionable).  Their  finery, 
however,  threw  a  veil  over  any  grossness  in  their  conversation. 
My  daughters  seemed  to  regard  their  superior  accomplishments 
with  envy  ;  and  what  appeared  amiss  was  ascribed  to  tip-top 
quality  breeding,  But  the  condescension  of  the  ladies  was  still 
superior  to  their  other  accomplishments.  One  of  them  ob- 
served, that  had  Miss  Olivia  seen  a  little  more  of  the  world,  it 
would  greatly  improve  her.  To  which  the  other  added,  that  a 
single  winter  in  town  would  make  her  little  Sophia  quite  an- 
other thing.  My  wife  warmly  assented  to  both  ;  adding  that 
there  was  nothing  she  more  ardently  wished  than  to  give  her 
girls  a  single  winter's  polishing.  To  this  I  could  not  help  re- 
plying, that  their  breeding  was  already  superior  to  their  for- 
tune ;  and  that  greater  refinement  would  only  serve  to  make 
their  poverty  ridiculous,  and  give  them  a  taste  for  pleasures 
they  had  no  right  to  possess. — "  And  what  pleasures,"  cried  Mr. 
Thornhill,  "  do  they  not  deserve  to  possess,  who  have  so  much 
in  their  power  to  bestow  ?  As  for  my  part,"  continued  he, 
"  my  fortune  is  pretty  large  ;  love,  liberty,  and  pleasure,  are 
my  maxims ;  but  curse  me  if  a  settlement  of  half  my  estate 
could  give  my  charming  Olivia  pleasure,  it  should  be  hers ; 
and  the  only  favor  I  would  ask  in  return  would  be  to  add  my- 
self to  the  benefit.'1  I  was  not  such  a  stranger  to  the  world  as 
to  be  ignorant  that  this  was  the  fashionable  cant  to  disguise 
the  insolence  of  the  basest  proposal ;  but  I  made  an  effort  to 
suppress  my  resentment.  "  Sir,"  cried  I,  "  the  family  which 
you  now  condescend  to  favor  with  your  company,  has  been  bred 
with  as  nice  a  sense  of  honor  as  you.  Any  attempts  to  injure 
that,  may  be  attended  with  very  dangerous  consequences. 
Honor,  sir,  is  our  only  possession  at  present,  and  of  that  last 
treasure  we  must  be  particularly  careful." — I  was  soon  sorry 
for  the  warmth  with  which  I  had  spoken  this,  when  the  young 
gentleman,  grasping  my  hand,  swore  he  commended  my  spirit, 
though  he  disapproved  my  suspicions.  "  As  to  your  present 
hint,"  continued  he,  "  I  protest  nothing  was  farther  from  my 
heart  than  such  a  thought.  No,  by  all  that's  tempting,  the 
virtue  that  will  stand  a  regular  siege  was  never  to  my  taste  ; 
for  all  my  amours  are  carried  by  a  coup-de-main." 

The  two  ladies,  who  affected  to  be  ignorant  of  the  rest, 
seemed  highly  displeased  with  this  last  stroke  of  freedom, 
and  began  a  very  discreet  and  serious  dialogue  upon  virtue ;  in 
this  my  wife,  the  chaplain,  and  I,  soon  joined ;  and  the  'Squire 
himself  was  at  last  brought  to  confess  a  sense  of  sorrow  for  his 


42  VICAR  OF  WAKEFTELD. 

former  excesses.  We  talked  of  the  pleasures  of  temperance, 
and  of  the  sunshine  in  the  mind  unpolluted  with  guilt.  I  was 
so  well  pleased,  that  my  little  ones  were  kept  up  beyond  the 
usual  time  to  be  edified  by  so  much  good  conversation.  Mr. 
Thornhill  even  went  beyond  me,  and  demanded  if  I  had  any 
objections  to  giving  prayers.  I  joyfully  embraced  the  pro- 
posal ;  and  in  this  manner  the  night  was  passed  in  a  most 
comfortable  way,  till  at  last  the  company  began  to  think  of  re- 
turning. The  ladies  seemed  very  unwilling  to  part  with  my 
daughters,  for  whom  they  had  conceived  a  particular  affection, 
and  joined  in  a  request  to  have  the  pleasure  of  their  company 
home.  The  'Squire  seconded  the  proposal,  and  my  wife  added 
her  entreaties  ;  the  girls  too  looked  upon  me  as  if  they  wished 
me  to  go.  In  this  perplexity  I  made  two  or  three  excuses, 
which  my  daughters  -as  readily  removed  ;  so  that  at  last  I  was 
obliged  to  give  a  peremptory  refusal ;  for  which  we  had 
nothing  but  sullen  looks  and  short  answers  the  whole  day 
ensuing. 


CHAPTER  X. 

The  family  endeavors  to  cope  with  their  betters. — The  miseries  of  the  poor  when 
they  attempt  to  appear  above  their  circumstances. 

I  NOW  began  to  find,  that  all  my  long  and  painful  lectures 
upon  temperance,  simplicity  and  contentment,  where  entirely 
disregarded.  The  distinctions  lately  paid  us  by  our  betters 
awaked  that  pride  which  I  had  laid  asleep  but  not  removed.  Our 
windows,  again,  as  formerly,  were  filled  with  washes  for  the  neck 
and  face.  The  sun  was  dreaded  as  an  enemy  to  the  skin 
without  doors,  and  the  fire  as  a  spoiler  of  the  complexion  with- 
in. My  wife  observed,  that  rising  too  early  would  hurt  her 
daughter's  eyes,  that  working  after  dinner  would  redden  their 
noses,  and  she  convinced  me  that  the  hands  never  looked  so 
white  as  when  they  did  nothing.  Instead,  therefore,  of  finish- 
ing George's  shirts,  we  now  had  them  new-modelling  their  old 
gauses,  or  flourishing  upon  catgut.  The  poor  Miss  Flambor- 
oughs,  their  former  gay  companions,  were  cast  off  as  mean  ac- 
quaintance, and  the  whole  conversation  ran  upon  high  life  and 
high-lived  company,  with  pictures,  taste,  Shakspeare,  and  the 
musical  glasses. 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


43 


But  we  could  have  borne  all  this,  had  not  a  fortune-telling 
gipsy  come  to  raise  us  into  perfect  sublimity.  The  tawny  sibyl 
no  sooner  appeared,  than  my  girls  came  running  to  me  for  a 
shilling  a-piece  to  cross  her  hand  with  silver.  To  say  the  truth 
I  was  tired  of  being  always  wise,  and  could  not  help  gratifying 
their  request,  because  I  love  to  see  them  happy.  I  gave  each 
of  them  a  shilling  ;  though  for  the  honor  of  the  family  it 
must  be  observed,  that  they  never  went  without  money  them- 
selves, as  my  wife  always  generously  let  them  have  a  guinea 
each,  to  keep  in  their  pockets,  but  with  strict  injunctions  never 
to  change  it.  After  they  had  been  closeted  up  with  the  fortune- 
teller for  some  time,  I  knew  by  their  looks,  upon  their  return- 
ing, that  they  had  been  promised  something  great. — "  Well  my 
girls,  how  have  you  sped?  Tell  me,  Livy,  has  the  fortune- 
teller given  thee  a  pennyworth  ?  " — "  I  protest,  papa,"  says  the 
girl,  "  I  believe  she  deals  with  somebody  that's  not  right ;  for 
she  positively  declared  that  I  am  to  be  married  to  a  'squire  in 
less  than  a  twelvemonth  ! — "Well  now,  Sophy,  my  child,"  said 
I,  "  and  what  sort  of  a  husband  are  you  to  have  ?  "  "  Sir," 
replied  she,  "  I  am  to  have  a  lord  soon  after  my  sister  has 
married  the  squire." 

"  How  !  "  cried  I,  "  is  that  all  your  are  to  have  for  your  two 
shillings  ?  Only  a  lord  and  a  'squire  for  two  shillings  !  You 
fools,  I  could  have  promised  you  a  prince  and  a  nabob  for 
half  the  money." 

This  curiosity  of  theirs,  however,  was  attended  with  very 
serious  effects ;  we  now  began  to  think  ourselves  designed  by 
the  stars  to  something  exalted,  and  already  anticipated  our 
future  grandeur. 

It  has  been  a  thousand  times  observed,  and  I  must  observe 
it  once  more,  that  the  hours  we  pass  with  happy  prospects  in 
view,  are  more  pleasing  than  those  crowned  with  fruition.  In 
the  first  case,  we  cook  the  dish  to  our  own  appetite  ;  in  the 
latter,  nature  cooks  it  for  us.  It  is  impossible  to  repeat  the 
train  of  agreeable  reveries  we  called  up  for  our  entertainment. 
We  looked  upon  our  fortunes  as  once  more  rising;  and  as  the 
whole  parish  asserted  the  'squire  was  in  love  with  my  daughter, 
she  was.  actually  so  with  him  :  for  they  persuaded  her  into  the 
passion.  In  this  agreeable  interval,  my  wife  had  the  most  lucky 
dreams  in  the  world,  which  she  took  care  to  tell  us  every  morn- 
ing with  great  solemnity  and  exactness.  It  was  one  night  a 
coffin  and  cross-bones,  the  sign  of  on  approaching  wedding  ;  at 
another  time  she  imagined  her  daughter's  pockets  filled  with 
farthings,  a  certain  sign  of  their  being  shortly  stuffed  with  gold 


44  VICAR  OF  WAKEFTELD. 

The  girls  themselves  had  their  omens.  They  felt  strange  kisses 
on  their  lips ;  they  saw  rings  in  the  candle,  purses  bounced 
from  the  fire,  and  true  love-knots  lurked  in  the  bottom  of  every 
teacup. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  week  \ve  received  a  card  from  the 
town  ladies ;  in  which,  with  their  compliments,  they  hoped  to 
see  all  our  family  at  church  the  Sunday  following.  All  Satur- 
day morning,  I  could  perceive,  in  consequence  of  this,  my 
wife  and  daughters  in  close  conference  together,  and  now  and 
then  glancing  at  me  with  looks  that  betrayed  a  latent  plot.  To 
be  sincere,  I  had  strong  suspicions  that  some  absurd  proposal 
was  preparing  for  appearing  with  splendor  the  next  day.  In 
the  evening  they  began  their  operations  in  a  very  regular  man- 
ner, and  my  wife  undertook  to  conduct  the  siege.  After  tea, 
when  I  seemed  in  spirits,  she  began  thus  : — "  I  fancy  Charles, 
my  dear,  we  shall  have  a  great  deal  of  good  company  at  our 
church  to-morrow." — "  Perhaps  we  may,  my  dear,"  returned  I, 
"  though  you  need  be  under  no  uneasiness  about  that,  you 
shall  have  a  sermon  whether  there  be  or  not." — "  That  is  what 
I  expect,"  returned  she  ;  "but  I  think,  my  dear,  we  ought  to 
appear  there  as  decently  as  possible,  for  who  knows  what  may 
happen  ?  "  "  Your  precautions,"  replied  I,  "  are  highly  com- 
mendable. A  decent  behavior  and  appearance  in  church  is 
what  charms  me.  We  should  be  devout  and  humble,  cheerful 
and  serene."  "  Yes,"  cried  she,  "  I  know  that ;  but  I  mean  we 
should  go  there  in  as  proper  a  manner  as  possible  ;  not  alto- 
gether like  the  scrubs  about  us."  "  You  are  quite  right,  my 
dear,"  returned  I,  "  and  I  was  going  to  make  the  very  same 
proposal.  The  proper  manner  of  going  is  to  go  there  as  early 
as  possible,  to  have  time  for  meditation  before  the  service 
begins."  "  Phoo,  Charles,"  interrupted  she,  "  all  that  is  very 
true ;  but  not  what  I  would  be  at.  I  mean  we  should  go  there 
genteelly.  You  know  the  church  is  two  miles  off,  and  I  protest 
I  don't  like  to  see  my  daughters  trudging  up  to  their  pew  all 
blowzed  and  red  with  walking,  and  looking  for  all  the  world 
as  if  they  had  been  winners  at  a  smock-race.  Now,  my  dear, 
my  proposal  is  this  :  there  are  two  plough  horses,  the  colt  that 
has  been  in  our  family  these  nine  years,  and  his  companion 
Blackberry,  that  has  scarcely  done  an  earthly  thing  for  this 
month  past.  They  are  both  grown  fat  and  lazy.  Why  should 
not  they  do  something  as  well  as  we  ?  And  let  me  tell  you, 
when  Moses  has  trimmed  them  a  little,  they  will  cut  a  very  tol- 
erable figure." 

To  this  proposal  I  objected,  that  walking  would  be  twenty 


VICAR  OF  IVAKEFIELD. 


45 


times  more  genteel  than  such  a  paltry  conveyance,  as  Black- 
berry was  wall-eyed,  and  the  colt  wanted  a  tail ;  that  they  had 
never  been  broke  to  the  rein,  but  had  a  hundred  vicious  tricks ; 
and  that  we  had  but  one  saddle  and  pillion  in  the  whole  house. 
All  these  objections,  however,  were  overruled  ;  so  that  I  was 
obliged  to  comply.  The  next  morning  I  perceived  them  not  a 
little  busy  in  collecting  such  materials  as  might  be  necessary 
for  the  expedition ;  but  as  I  found  it  would  be  a  business  of 
time,  I  walked  on  to  the  church  before,  and  they  promised 
speedily  to  follow.  I  waited  near  an  hour  in  the  reading-desk 
for  their  arrival ;  but  not  finding  them  come  as  expected,  I  was 
obliged  to  begin,  and  went  through  the  service,  not  without 
some  uneasiness  at  finding  them  absent.  This  was  increased 
when  all  was  finished,  and  no  appearance  of  the  family.  -  I 
therefore  walked  back  by  the  horse-way,  which  was  five  miles 
round,  though  the  foot-way  was  but  two,  and  when  got  about 
half  way  home,  perceived  the  procession  marching  slowly  for- 
ward towards  the  church  ;  my  son,  my  wife,  and  the  two  little 
ones,  exalted  upon  one  horse,  and  my  two  daughters  upon  the 
other.  I  demanded  the  cause  of  their  delay ;  but  I  soon  found 
by  their  looks  they  had  met  with  a  thousand  misfortunes  on 
the  road.  The  horses  had  at  first  refused  to  move  from  the 
door,  till  Mr.  Burchell  was  kind  enough  to  beat  them  forward 
for  about  two  hundred  yards  with  his  cudgel.  Next,  the  straps 
of  my  wife's  pillion  broke  down,  and  they  were  obliged  to  stop 
to  repair  them  before  they  could  proceed.  After  that,  one  of 
the  horses  took  it  into  his  head  to  stand  still,  and  neither  blows 
nor  entreaties  could  prevail  with  him  to  proceed.  He  was  just 
recovering  from  this  dismal  situation  when  I  found  them  ;  but 
perceiving  everything  safe,  I  own  their  present  mortification 
did  not  much  displease  me,  as  it  would  give  me  many  op- 
portunities of  future  triumph,  and  teach  my  daughters  more 
humility. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

The  family  still  resolve  to  hold  up  their  heads, 

MICHAELMAS  eve  happening  on  the  next  day,  we  were  in- 
vited to  burn  nuts  and  play  tricks  at  neighbor  Flamborough's. 
Our  late  mortifications  had  humbled  us  a  little,  or  it  is  probable 


46  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

we  might  have  rejected  such  an  invitation  with  contempt :  how- 
ever, we  suffered  ourselves  to  be  happy.  Our  honest  neighbor's 
goose  and  dumplings  were  fine,  and  the  lamb's  wool,  even  in 
the  opinion  of  my  wife,  who  was  a  connoisseur,  was  excellent. 
It  is  true,  his  manner  of  telling  stories  was  not  quite  so  well. 
They  were  very  long,  and  very  dull,  and  all  about  himself,  and 
we  had  laughed  at  them  ten  times  before :  however,  we  were 
kind  enough  to  laugh  at  them  once  more. 

Mr.  Burchell,  who  was  of  the  party,  was  always  fond  of 
seeing  some  innocent  amusement  going  forward,  and  set  the 
boys  and  girls  to  blind  man's  buff.  My  wife  too  was  persuaded 
to  join  in  the  diversion,  and  it  gave  me  pleasure  to  think  she 
was  not  yet  too  old.  In  the  meantime,  my  neighbor  and  I 
looked  on,  laughed  at  every  feat,  and  praised  our  own  dexterity 
when  we  were  young.  Hot  cockles  succeeded  next,  questions 
and  commands  followed  that,  and  last  of  all  they  sat  down  to 
hunt  the  slipper.  As  every  person  may  not  be  acquainted 
with  this  primeval  pastime,  it  may  be  necessary  to  observe, 
that  the  company  at  this  play  plant  themselves  in  a  ring  upon 
the  ground,  all  except  one,  who  stands  in  the  middle,  whose 
business  it  is  to  catch  a  shoe,  which  the  company  shove  about 
under  their  hams  from  one  to  another,  something  like  a  weaver's 
shuttle.  As  it  is  impossible,  in  this  case,  for  the  lady  who  is 
up  to  face  all  the  company  at  once,  the  great  beauty  of  the 
play  lies  in  hitting  her  a  thump  with  the  heel  of  the  shoe  on 
that  side  least  capable  of  making  a  defence.  It  was  in  this 
manner  that  my  eldest  daughter  was  hemmed  in,  and  thumped 
about,  all  blowzed,  in  spirits,  and  bawling  for  fair  play,  with  a 
voice  that  might  deafen  a  ballad-singer,  when,  confusion  on 
confusion !  who  should  enter  the  room  but  our  two  great 
acquaintances  from  town,  Lady  Blarney  atid  Miss  Carolina 
Wilhelmina  Amelia  Skeggs  ?  Description  would  but  beggar, 
therefore  it  is  unnecessary  to  describe  this  new  mortification. 
Death  !  to  be  seen  by  ladies  of  such  high  breeding  in  such 
vulgar  attitudes  !  Nothing  better  could  ensue  from  such  a 
vulgar  play  of  Mr.  Flamborough's  proposing.  We  seemed 
struck  to  the  ground  for  some  time,  as  if  actually  petrified  with 
amazement. 

The  two  ladies  had  been  at  our  house  to  see  us,  and  finding 
us  from  home,  came  after  us  hither,  as  they  were  uneasy  to 
know  what  accident  could  have  kept  us  from  church  the  day 
before.  Olivia  undertook  to  be  our  prolocutor,  and  delivered 
the  whole  in  a  summary  way,  only  saying,  "  We  were  thrown 
from  our  horses."  At  which  account  the  ladies  were  greatly 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD 


47 


concerned  ;  but  being  told  the  family  received  no  hurt,  they 
were  extremely  glad  :  but  being  informed  that  we  were  almost 
killed  by  the  fright,  they  were  vastly  sorry  ;  but  hearing  that 
we  had  a  very  good  night,  they  were  extremely  glad  again. 
Nothing  could  exceed  their  complaisance  to  my  daughters ; 
their  professions  the  last  evening  were  warm,  but  now  they 
were  ardent.  They  protested  a  desire  of  having  a  more  lasting 
acquaintance.  Lady  Blarney  was  particularly  attached  to 
Olivia ;  Miss  Carolina  Wilhelmina  Amelia  Skeggs  ( I  love  to 
give  the  whole  name)  took  a  greater  fancy  to  her  sister.  They 
supported  the  conversation  between  themselves,  while  my 
daughters  sat  silent,  admiring  their  exalted  breeding.  But  as 
every  reader,  however  beggarly  himself,  is  fond  of  high  lived 
dialogues,  with  anecdotes  of  Lords,  Ladies,  and  Knights  of  the 
Garter,  I  must  beg  leave  to  give  him  the  concluding  part  of 
the  present  coversation. 

"  All  that  I  know  of  the  matter,"  cried  Miss  Skeggs,  "  is 
this,  that  it  may  be  true,  or  it  may  not  be  true  ;  but  this  I  can 
assure  your  ladyship,  that  the  whole  rout  was  in  amaze  ;  his 
lordship  turned  all  manner  of  colors,  my  lady  fell  into  a  sound, 
but  Sir  Tonkyn,  drawing  his  sword,  swore  he  was  hers  to  the 
last  drop  of  his  blood." 

"  Well,"  replied  our  peeress,  "  this  I  can  say,  that  the 
duchess  never  told  me  a  syllable  of  the  matter,  and  I  believe 
her  grace  would  keep  nothing  a  secret  from  me.  This  you 
may  depend  upon  as  a  fact,  that  the  next  morning  my  lord 
duke  cried  out  three  times  to  his  valet  de  ckambre,  Jernigan. 
Jernigan,  Jernigan,  bring  me  my  garters." 

But  previously  I  should  have  mentioned  the  very  impolite 
behavior  of  Mr.  Burchell,  who,  during  this  discourse,  sat  with 
his  face  turned  to  the  fire,  and  at  the  conclusion  of  every  sen- 
tence would  cry  out  fudge  !  an  expression  which  displeased  us 
all,  and  in  some  measure  damped  the  rising  spirit  of  the  con- 
versation. 

"  Besides,  my  dear  Skeggs,"  continued  our  peeress,  "  there 
is  nothing  of  this  in  the  copy  of  verses  that  Dr.  Burdock  made 
upon  the  occasion."  Fudge! 

"  I  am  surprised  at  that,"  cried  Miss  Skeggs ;  "  for  he 
seldom  leaves  anything  out,  and  he  writes  only  for  his  own 
amusement.  But  can  your  ladyship  favor  me  with  a  sight  of 
them  ?  "  Fudge  ! 

"  My  dear  creature,"  replied  our  peeress,  "  do  you  think  I 
carry  such  things  about  me  ?  Though  they  are  very  fine,  to  be 
sure,  and  I  think  myself  something  of  a  judge ;  at  least  I 


48  VICAR  OF  WAKZFIELD. 

know  what  pleases  myself.  Indeed  I  was  ever  an  admirer  of 
all  Dr.  Burdock's  little  pieces :  for,  except  what  he  does,  and 
our  dear  countess  at  Hanover-square^  there's  nothing  comes 
out  but  the  most  lowest  stuff  in  nature  ;  not  a  bit  of  high  life 
among  them."  Fudge  / 

"  Your  ladyship  should  except,"  says  t'other,  "  your  own 
things  in  the  Lady's  Magazine.  I  hope  you'll  say  there's 
nothing  low-lived  there?  But  I  suppose  we  are  to  have  no 
more  from  that  quarter  ? "  Fudge  ! 

"  Why,  my  dear,"  says  the  lady,  "  you  know  my  reader  and 
companion  has  left  me,  to  be  married  to  Captain  Roach,  and 
as  my  poor  eyes  wont  suffer  me  to  write  myself,  I  have  been 
for  some  time  looking  out  for  another.  A  proper  person  is  no 
easy  matter  to  find,  and  to  be  sure  thirty  pounds  a  year  is  a 
small  stipend  for  a  well-bred  girl  of  character,  that  can  read, 
write,  and  behave  in  company ;  as  for  the  chits  about  town, 
there  is  no  bearing  them  about  one."  Fudge! 

"  That  I  know,"  cried  Miss  Skeggs,  "  by  experience.  For 
of  the  three  companions  I  had  this  last  half-year,  one  of  them 
refused  to  do  plain-work  an  hour  in  a  day ;  another  thought 
twenty-five  guineas  a  year  too  small  a  salary,  and  I  was  obliged 
to  send  away  the  third,  because  I  suspected  an  intrigue  with 
the  chaplain.  Virtue,  my  dear  Lady  Blarney,  virtue  is  worth 
any  price  :  but  where  is  that  to  be  found  ? "  Fudge  ! 

My  wife  had  been  for  a  long  time  all  attention  to  this 
discourse ;  but  was  particularly  struck  with  the  latter  part  of  it. 
Thirty  pounds  and  twenty-five  guineas  a  year,  made  fifty-six 
pounds  five  shillings  English  money,  all  which  was  in  a  manner 
going  a-begging,  and  might  easily  be  secured  in  the  family. 
She  for  a  moment  studied  my  looks  for  approbation  ;  and,  to 
own  a  truth,  I  was  of  opinion  that  two  such  places  would  fit 
our  two  daughters  exactly.  Besides,  if  the  'Squire  had  any 
real  affection  for  my  eldest  daughter,  this  would  be  the  way  to 
make  her  every  way  qualified  for  her  fortune.  My  wife  there- 
fore was  resolved  that  we  should  not  be  deprived  of  such 
advantages  for  want  of  assurance,  and  undertook  to  harangue 
for  the  family.  "  I  hope,"  cried  she,  "  your  ladyship  will 
pardon  my  present  presumption.  It  is  true,  we  have  no  right 
to  pretend  to  such  favors  ;  but  yet  it  is  natural  for  me  to  wish 
putting  my  children  forward  in  the  world.  And  I  will  be  bold 
to  say  my  two  girls  have  had  a  pretty  good  education  and 
capacity,  at  least  the  country  can't  show  better.  They  can 
read,  write,  and  cast  accounts ;  they  understand  their  needle, 
broadstitch,  gross  and  change,  and  all  manner  of  plain-work  ^ 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


49 


they  can  pink,  point,  and  frill,  and  know  something  of  music ; 
they  can  do  up  small  clothes  ;  work  upon  catgut :  my  eldest 
can  cut  paper,  and  my  youngest  has  a  very  pretty  manner  of 
telling  fortunes  upon  the  cards."  Fudge  ! 

When  she  had  delivered  this  pretty  piece  ot  eloquence,  the 
two  ladies  looked  at  each  other  a  few  minutes  in  silence,  with 
an  air  of  doubt  and  importance.  At  last  Miss  Carolina  Wil- 
helmina  Amelia  Skeggs  condescended  to  observe,  that  the 
young  ladies,  from  the  opinion  she  could  form  of  them  from  so 
slight  an  acquaintance,  seemed  very  fit  for  such  employments  : 
"  But  a  thing  of  this  kind,  madam,"  cried  she,  addressing  my 
spouse,  "  requires  a  thorough  examination  into  characters,  and 
a  more  perfect  knowledge  of  each  other.  Not,  madam,"  con- 
tinued she,  "  that  I  in  the  least  suspect  the  young  ladies'  virtue, 
prudence  and  discretion  ;  but  there  is  a  form  in  these  things, 
madam,  there  is  a  form." 

My  wife  approved  her  suspicions  very  much,  observing  that 
she  was  very  apt  to  be  suspicious  herself ;  but  referred  her  to 
all  the  neighbors  for  a  character  :  but  this  our  peeress  declined 
as  unnecessary,  alleging  that  her  cousin  Thornhill's  recom- 
mendation would  be  sufficient ;  and  upon  this  we  rested  our 
petition. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Fortune  seems  resolved  to  humble  the  family  of  Wakefield — Mortifications  are 
often  more  painful  than  real  calamities. 

WHEN  we  were  returned  home  the  night  was  dedicated  to 
schemes  of  future  conquest.  Deborah  exerted  much  sagacity 
in  conjecturing  which  of  the  two  girls  was  likely  to  have  the 
best  place,  and  most  opportunities  of  seeing  good  company. 
The  only  obstacle  to  our  preferment  was  in  obtaining  the 
'Squire's  recommendation  ;  but  he  had  already  shown  us  too 
many  instances  of  his  friendship  to  doubt  of  it  now.  Even  in 
bed  my  wife  kept  up  the  usual  theme  :  "  Well,  faith,  my  dear 
Charles,  between  ourselves,  I  think  we  have  made  an  excellent 
day's  work  of  it." — "  Pretty  well,"  cried  I,  not  knowing  what 
to  say.  "  What !  only  pretty  well !  "  returned  she.  "  I  think 
it  is  very  well.  Suppose  the  girls  should  come  to  make  acquaint- 
ances of  taste  in  town  !  This  I  am  assured  of,  that  London 

4 


5° 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


is  the  only  place  in  the  world  for  all  manner  of  husbands.  Be- 
sides, my  dear,  stranger  things  happen  every  day  :  and  as 
ladies  of  quality  are  so  taken  with  my  daughters,  what  will  not 
men  of  quality  be  ? — Entre  nous,  I  protest  I  like  my  Lady 
Blarney  vastly,  so  very  obliging.  However,  Miss  Carolina 
Wilhelmina  Amelia  Skeggs  has  my  warm  heart.  But  when 
they  came  to  talk  of  places  in  town,  you  saw  at  once  how  I 
nailed  them.  Tell  me,  my  dear,  don't  you  think  I  did  for  my 
children  there  ?  "  "Ay,"  returned  I,  not  knowing  well  what  to 
think  of  the  matter,  "  Heaven  grant  they  may  be  both  the 
better  for  it  this  day  three  months  !  "  This  was  one  of  those 
observations  I  usually  made  to  impress  my  wife  with  an  opinion 
of  my  sagacity  :  for  if  the  girls  succeeded,  then  it  was  a  pious 
wish  fulfilled  ;  but  if  anything  unfortunate  ensued,  then  it 
might  be  looked  upon  as  a  prophecy.  All  this  conversation, 
however,  was  only  preparatory  to  another  scheme,  and  indeed  I 
dreaded  as  much.  This  was  nothing  less  than  that,  as  we  were 
now  to  hold  up  our  heads  a  little  higher  in  the  world,  it  would 
be  proper  to  sell  the  colt,  which  was  grown  old,  at  a  neighbor- 
ing fair,  and  buy  us  a  horse  that  would  carry  single  or  double 
upon  an  occasion,  and  make  a  pretty  appearance  at  church  or 
upon  a  visit.  This  at  first  I  opposed  stoutly ;  but  it  was  as 
stoutly  defended.  However,  as  I  weakened,  my  antagonist 
gained  strength,  till  at  last  it  was  resolved  to  part  with  him. 

As  the  fair  happened  on  the  following  day,  I  had  intentions 
of  going  myself ;  but  my  wife  persuaded  me  that  I  had  got  a 
cold,  and  nothing  could  prevail  upon  her  to  permit  me  from 
home.  "No,  my  dear,"  said  she  "our  son  Moses  is  a  discreet 
boy,  and  can  buy  and  sell  to  very  good  advantage  :  you  know 
all  our  great  bargains  are  of  his  purchasing.  He  always  stands 
out  and  higgles,  and  actually  tires  them  till  he  gets  a  bargain." 

As  I  had  some  opinion  of  my  son's  prudence,  I  was  willing 
enough  to  entrust  him  with  this  commission  ;  and  the  next 
morning  I  perceived  his  sisters  mighty  busy  in  fitting  out  Moses 
for  the  fair  :  trimming  his  hair,  brushing  his  buckles,  and  cock- 
ing his  hat  with  pins.  The  business  of  the  toilet  being  over, 
we  had  at  last  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  him  mounted  upon  the 
colt,  with  a  deal  box  before  him  to  bring  home  groceries  in. 
He  had  on  a  coat  made  of  that  cloth  they  call  thunder  and 
lightning,  which,  though  grown  too  short,  was  much  too  good 
to  be  thrown  away.  His  waistcoat  was  of  goslin  green,  and  his 
sisters  had  tied  his  hair  with  a  broad  black  ribbon.  We  all 
followed  him  several  paces  from  the  door,  bawling  after  him 
good  luck,  good  luck,  till  we  could  see  him  no  longer. 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


5« 


He  was  scarcely  gone  when  Mr.  Thornhill's  butler  came  to 
congratulate  us  upon  our  good  fortune,  saying,  that  he  over- 
heard his  young  master  mention  our  names  with  great  commen- 
dation. 

Good  fortune  seemed  resolved  not  to  come  alone.  Another 
footman  from  the  same  family  followed,  with  a  card  for  my 
daughters,  importing  that  the  two  ladies  had  received  sucl] 
pleasing  accounts  from  Mr.  Thornhill  of  us  all,  that,  after  a  few 
previous  inquiries,  they  hoped  to  be  perfectly  satisfied.  "  Ay," 
cried  my  wife,  "  I  now  see  it  is  no  easy  matter  to  get  into  the 
families  of  the  great ;  but  when  one  once  gets  in,  then,  as  Moses 
says,  one  may  go  to  sleep."  To  this  piece  of  humor,  for  she 
intended  it  for  wit,  my  daughters  assented  with  a  loud  laugh  of 
pleasure.  In  short,  such  was  her  satisfaction  at  this  message 
that  she  actually  put  her  hand  in  her  pocket,  and  gave  the 
messenger  seven-pence  halfpenny. 

This  was  to  be  our  visiting  day.  The  next  that  came  was 
Mr.  Burchell,  who  had  been  at  the  fair.  He  brought  my  little 
ones  a  pennyworth  of  gingerbread  each,  which  my  wife  under- 
took to  keep  for  them  and  give  them  by  letters  at  a  time.  He 
brought  my  daughters  also  a  couple  of  boxes,  in  which  they 
might  keep  wafers,  snuff,  patches,  or  even  money,  when  they 
got  it.  My  wife  was  usually  fond  of  a  weasel-skin  purse,  as 
being  the  most  lucky  ;  but  this  by  the  bye.  We  had  still  a  re- 
gard for  Mr.  Burchell,  though  his  late  rude  behavior  was  in 
some  measure  displeasing :  nor  could  we  now  avoid  communi- 
cating our  happiness  to  him,  and  asking  his  advice ;  although 
we  seldom  followed  advice,  we  were  all  ready  enough  to  ask  it. 
When  he  read  the  note  from  the  two  ladies,  he  shook  his  head, 
and  observed,  that  an  affair  of  this  sort  demanded  the  utmost 
circumspection.  This  air  of  diffidence  highly  displeased  my 
wife.  "  I  never  doubted,  sir,"  cried  she,  "  your  readiness  to 
be  against  my  daughters  and  me.  You  have  more  circumspec- 
tion than  is  wanted.  However,  I  fancy  when  we  come  to  ask 
advice,  we  will  apply  to  persons  who  seem  to  have  made  use  of 
it  themselves." — "  Whatever  my  own  conduct  may  have  been, 
madam,"  replied  he,  "is  not  the  present  question;  though  as 
I  have  made  no  use  of  advice  myself,  I  should  in  conscience 
give  it  to  those  who  will." — As  I  was  apprehensive  that  this  an- 
swer might  draw  on  a  repartee,  making  up  by  abuse  what  it 
wanted  in  wit,  I  changed  the  subject,  by  seeming  to  wonder 
what  could  keep  our  son  so  long  at  the  fair,  as  it  was  now,  al- 
most nightfall. — "Never  mind  our  son,"  cried  my  wife,  "de- 
pend upon  it  he  knows  what  he  is  about.  I'll  warrant  we'll 


52' 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


never  see  him  sell  his  hen  01  a  rainy  day.  I  have  seen  him  buy 
such  bargains  as  would  amaze  one.  I'll  tell  you  a  good  story 
about  that,  that  will  make  you  split  your  sides  a  laughing. — • 
But  as  I  live,  yonder  comes  Moses,  without  a  horse,  and  the 
box  at  his  back." 

As  she  spoke  Moses  came  slowly  on  foot,  and  sweating 
under  the  deal  box,  which  he  had  strapped  round  his  shoulders 
like  a  pedler. — "  Welcome,  welcome,  Moses ;  well,  my  boy, 
what  have  you  brought  us  from  the  fair  ?  " — "  I  have  brought 
you  myself,"  cried  Moses,  with  a  sly  look,  and  resting  the  box 
on  the  dresser." — "  Ah,  Moses,  cried  my  wife,  that  we  know  ; 
but  where  is  the  horse  ?  "  "I  have  sold  him,"  cried  Moses, 
"for  three  pounds  five  shillings  and  twopence." — "Well done, 
my  good  boy,"  returned  she  ;  "  I  knew  you  would  touch  them 
off.  Between  ourselves,  three  pounds  five  shillings  and  two 
pence  is  no  bad  day's  work.  Come  let  us  have  it  then." — "  I 
have  brought  back  no  money,"  cried  Moses  again.  "  I  have, 
laid  it  all  out  in  a  bargain,  and  here  it  is,"  pulling  out  a  bundle 
from  his  breast ;  "  here  they  are  ;  a  gross  of  green  spectacles, 
with  silver  rims  and  shagreen  cases." — "A  gross  of  green  spec- 
tacles !  "  repeated  my  wife  in  a  faint  voice.  "  And  you  have 
parted  with  the  colt,  and  brought  us  back  nothing  but  a  gross 
of  paltry  green  spectacles  !"  "Dear  mother,"  cried  the  boy, 
"  why  won't  you  listen  to  reason  ?  I  had  them  a  dead  bargain, 
or  I  should  not  have  bought  them.  The  silver  rims  alone  will 
sell  for  double  the  money."  "  A  fig  for  the  silver  rims,"  cried 
my  wife  in  a  passion  :  "  I  dare  say  they  won't  sell  for  above 
half  the  money  at  the  rate  of  broken  silver,  five  shillings  an 
ounce." — "  You  need  be  under  no  uneasiness,"  cried  I,  "  about 
selling  the  rims,  for  they  are  not  worth  sixpence,  for  I  perceive 
they  are  only  copper  varnished  over."  "What,"  cried  my 
wife,  "  not  silver !  the  rims  not  silver  !  "  "  No,"  cried  I,  "  no 
more  silver  than  your  saucepan." — "  And  so,"  returned  she, 
"  we  have  parted  with  the  colt,  and  have  only  got  a  gross  of 
green  spectacles,  with  copper  rims  and  shagreen  cases  !  A 
murrain  take  such  trumpery.  The  blockhead  has  been  imposed 
upon,  and  should  have  known  his  company  better." — "  There 
my  dear,"  cried  I,  "  you  are  wrong,  he  should  not  have  known 
them  at  all." — "Marry,  hang  the  idiot,"  returned  she,  "to 
bring  me  such  stuff,  if  I  had  them  I  would  throw  them  in  the 
fire."  "There  again  you  are  wrong,  my  dear,"  cried  I;  "for 
though  they  be  copper,  we  will  keep  them  by  us,  as  copper 
spectacles,  you  know,  are  better  than  nothing." 

By  this  time  the  unfortunate  Moses  was  undeceived.     He 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  53 

now  saw  that  he  had  been  imposed  upon  by  a  prowling  snarper, 
who,  observing  his  figure,  had  marked  him  for  an  easy  prey.  I 
therefore  asked  the  circumstance  of  his  deception.  He  sold 
the  horse,  it  seems,  and  walked  the  fair  in  search  of  another. 
A  reverend  looking  man  brought  him  to  a  tent,  under  pretence 
of  having  one  to  sell.  "  Here,"  continued  Moses,  "  we  met 
another  man  very  well  dressed,  who  desired  to  borrow  twenty 
pounds  upon  these,  saying  that  he  wanted  money,  and  would 
dispose  of  them  for  a  third  of  the  value.  The  first  gentleman, 
who  pretended  to  be  my  friend,  whispered  me  to  buy  them,  and 
cautioned  me  not  to  let  so  good  an  offer  pass.  I  sent  for  Mr. 
Flamborough,  and  they  talked  him  up  as  finely  as  they  did 
me,  and  so  at  last  we  were  persuaded  to  buy  the  two  gross  be- 
tween us." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Mr.  Burchell  is  found  to  be  an  enemy  ;  for  he  has  the  confidence  to  give  disagreeable 

advice. 

OUR  family  had  now  made  several  attempts  to  be  fine  ;  but 
some  unforeseen  disaster  demolished  each  as  soon  as  projected. 
I  endeavored  to  take  the  advantage  of  every  disappointment, 
to  improve  their  good  sense  in  proportion  as  they  were  frus- 
trated in  ambition.  "  You  see,  my  children,"  cried  I,  "  how 
little  is  to  be  got  by  attempts  to  impose  upon  the  world,  in 
coping  with  our  betters.  Such  as  are  poor,  and  will  as- 
sociate with  none  but  the  rich,  are  hated  by  those  they  avoid, 
and  despised  by  those  they  follow.  Unequal  combinations  are 
always  disadvantageous  to  the  weaker  side  :  the  rich  having  the 
pleasure,  and  the  poor  the  inconveniences  that  result  from  them. 
But  come,  Dick,  my  boy,  and  repeat  the  fable  that  you  were 
reading  to-day,  for  the  good  of  the  company." 

"Once  upon  a  time,"  cried  the  child,  "  a  giant  and  a  dwarf 
were  friends,  and  kept  together.  They  made  a  bargain  that 
they  would  never  forsake  each  other,  but  go  seek  adventures. 
The  first  battle  they  fought  was  with  two  Saracens,  and  the 
dwarf,  who  was  very  courageous,  dealt  one  of  the  champions  a 
most  angry  blow.  It  did  the  Saracen  very  little  injury,  who, 
lifting  up  his  sword,  fairly  struck  off  the  poor  dwarf's  arm.  He 
was  now  in  a  woful  plight ;  but  the  giant  coming  to  his  assist- 


54 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


ance,  in  a  short  time  left  the  Saracens  dead  on  the  plain,  and 
the  dwarf  cut  off  the  dead  man's  head  out  of  spite.  They  then 
travelled  on  to  another  adventure.  This  was  against  three 
bloody-minded  Satyrs,  who  were  carrying  away  a  damsel  in  dis- 
tress. The  dwarf  was  not  quite  so  fierce  now  as  before  ;  but 
for  all  that  struck  the  first  blow,  which  was  returned  by  another 
that  knocked  out  his  eye  ;  but  the  giant  was  soon  up  with  them, 
and  had  they  not  fled,  would  certainly  have  killed  them  every 
one.  They  were  all  very  joyful  for  this  victory,  and  the  dam- 
sel who  was  relieved  fell  in  love  with  the  giant  and  married  him. 
They  now  travelled  far,  and  farther  than  I  can  tell,  till  they 
met  with  a  company  of  robbers.  The  giant  for  the  first 
time  was  foremost  now  ;  but  the  dwarf  was  not  far  behind. 
The  battle  was  stout  and  long.  Wherever  the  giant  came,  all 
fell  before  him ;  but  the  dwarf  had  like  to  have  been  killed 
more  than  once.  At  last  the  victory  declared  for  the  two  ad- 
venturers ;  but  the  dwarf  lost  his  leg.  The  dwarf  was  now 
without  an  arm,  a  leg,  and  an  eye,  while  the  giant  was  without 
a  single  wound.  Upon  which  he  cried  out  to  his  little  com- 
panion, '  My  little  hero,  this  is  glorious  sport !  let  us  get  one 
victory  more,  and  then  we  shall  have  honor  forever.'  '  No,' 
cries  the  dwarf,  who  was  by  this  time  grown  wiser,  'no,  I 
declare  off ;  I'll  fight  no  more  :  for  I  find  in  every  battle  that 
you  get  all  the  honor  and  rewards,  but  all  the  blows  fall  upon 
me.'  " 

I  was  going  to  moralize  this  fable  when  our  attention  was 
called  off  to  a  warm  dispute  between  my  wife  and  Mr.  Burchell, 
upon  my  daughter's  intended  expedition  to  town.  My  wife 
very  strenuously  insisted  upon  the  advantages  that  would  result 
from  it ;  Mr.  Burchell,  on  the  contrary,  dissuaded  her  with  great 
ardor,  and  I  stood  neuter.  His  present  dissuasions  seemed 
but  the  second  part  of  those  which  were  received  with  so  ill  a 
grace  in  the  morning.  The  dispute  grew  high,  while  poor  Deb- 
orah, instead  of  reasoning  stronger  talked  louder,  and  at  last 
was  obliged  to  take  shelter  from  a  defeat  in  clamor.  The 
conclusion  of  her  harangue,  however,  was  highly  displeasing  to 
us  all :  "she  knew,"  she  said,  "of  some  who  had  their  own 
secret  reasons  for  what  they  advised  ;  but,  for  her  part,  she 
wished  such  to  stay  away  from  her  house  for  the  future."  — 
"  Madam,"  cried  Burchell,  with  looks  of  great  composure,  which 
tended  to  inflame  her  the  more,  "  as  for  secret  reasons,  you  are 
right ;  I  have  secret  reasons,  which  I  forbear  to  mention,  be- 
cause you  are  not  able  to  answer  those  of  which  I  make  no 
secret :  but  I  find  my  visits  here  are  become  troublesome  ;  I'll 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.        ,  ^ 

take  my  leave  therefore  now,  and  perhaps  come  once  more  to 
take  a  final  farewell  when  I  am  quitting  the  country."  Thus 
saying,  he  took  up  his  hat,  nor  could  the  attempts  of  Sophia, 
whose  looks  seemed  to  upbraid  his  precipitancy,  prevent  his 
going. 

When  gone  we  all  regarded  each  other  for  some  minutes 
with  confusion.  My  wife,  who  knew  herself  to  be  the  cause, 
strove  to  hide  her  concern  with  a  forced  smile,  and  an  air  of 
assurance,  which  I  was  willing  to  reprove  :  "  How,  woman," 
cried  I  to  her,  "  is  it  thus  we  treat  strangers  ?  Is  it  thus  we 
return  their  kindness  ?  Be  assured,  my  dear,  that  these  were 
the  harshest  words,  and  to  me  the  most  unpleasing  that  ever 
escaped  your  lips  !  " — "  Why  would  he  provoke  me  then  ?  " 
replied  she  ;  "  but  I  know  the  motives  of  his  advice  perfectly 
well.  He  would  prevent  my  girls  from  going  to  town,  that  he 
may  have  the  pleasure  of  my  youngest  daughter's  company 
here  at  home.  But  whatever  happens,  she  shall  choose  better 
company  than  such  low-lived  fellows  as  he." — "  Low-lived,  my 
dear,  do  you  call  him  ?  "  cried  I  ;  "it  is  very  possible  we  may 
mistake  this  man's  character,  for  he  seems  upon  some  occa- 
sions the  most  finished  gentleman  I  ever  knew. — Tell  me, 
Sophia,  my  girl,  has  he  ever  given  you  any  secret  instances  of 
his  attachment  ?  "  "  His  conversation  with  me,  sir,"  replied 
my  daughter,  "  has  ever  been  sensible,  modest,  and  pleasing. 
As  to  aught  else,  no,  never.  Once,  indeed,  I  remember  to  have 
heard  him  say,  he  never  knew  a  woman  who  could  find  merit  in 
a  man  that  seemed  poor."  "  Such,  my  dear,"  cried  I,  "  is  the 
common  cant  of  all  the  unfortunate  or  idle.  But  I  hope  you 
have  been  taught  to  judge  properly  of  such  men,  and  that  it 
would  be  even  madness  to  expect  happiness  from  one  who  has 
been  so  very  bad  an  economist  of  his  own.  Your  mother  and 
I  have  now  better  prospects  for  you.  The  next  winter,  which 
you  will  probably  spend  in  town,  will  give  you  opportunities  of 
making  a  more  prude:. t  choice." 

Whpt  Sophia's  reflections  were  upon  this  occasion  I  can't 
pretend  to  determine  :  but  I  was  not  displeased  at  the  bottom, 
that  we  were  rid  ot  a  guest  from  whom  I  had  much  to  fear. 
Our  breach  of  hospitality  went  to  mv  conscience  a  little ;  but 
I  quickly  silenced  that  monitor  by  two  or  three  specious  rea- 
sons, which  served  to  satisfy  and  reconcile  me  to  myself.  The 
pain  which  conscience  gives  tne  man  who  has  already  done 
wrong,  is  soon  got  over.  Conscience  is  a  coward,  and  those 
faults  it  has  not  strength  enough  *o  prevent,  it  seldom  has 
justice  enough  to  accuse. 


VICAR  OF  WAKE  FIELD. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Fresh   Mortifications,  or  a  demonstration   that  seeming  Calamities   may  be  real 

Blessings. 

THE  journey  of  my  daughters  to  town  was  now  resolved 
upon,  Mr.  Thornhill  having  kindly  promised  to  inspect  their 
conduct  himself,  and  inform  us  by  letter  of  their  behavior. 
But  it  was  thought  indispensably  necessary  that  their  ap- 
pearance should  equal  the  greatness  of  their  expectations, 
which  could  not  be  done  without  expense.  We  debated 
therefore  in  full  council  what  were  the  easiest  methods  of  rais- 
ing money,  or  more  properly  speaking,  what  we  could  most 
conveniently  sell.  The  deliberation  was  soon  finished ;  it  was 
found  that  our  remaining  horse  was  utterly  useless  for  the 
plough  without  his  companion,  and  equally  unfit  for  the  road, 
as  wanting  an  eye  ;  it  was  therefore  determined  that  we  should 
dispose  of  him  for  the  purposes  above  mentioned,  at  the  neigh- 
boring fair,  and  to  prevent  imposition  that  I  should  go  with 
him  myself.  Though  this  was  one  of  the  first  mercantile  trans- 
actions of  my  life,  yet  I  had  no  doubt  about  acquitting  myself 
with  reputation.  The  opinion  a  man  forms  of  his  own  pru- 
dence is  measured  by  that  of  the  company  he  keeps  ;  and  as 
mine  was  mostly  in  the  family  way,  I  had  conceived  no  un- 
favorable sentiments  of  my  worldly  wisdom.  My  wife,  how- 
ever, next  morning,  at  parting,  after  I  had  got  some  paces 
from  the  door,  called  me  back,  to  advise  me  in  a  whisper,  to 
have  all  my  eyes  about  me. 

I  had,  in  the  usual  forms,  when  I  came  to  the  fair,  put  my 
horse  through  all  his  paces  ;  but  for  some  time  had  no  bidders. 
At  last  a  chapman  approached,  and  after  he  had  for  a  good 
while  examined  the  horse  round,  finding  him  blind  of  one  eye, 
he  would  have  nothing  to  say  to  him  ;  a  second  came  up,  but 
observing  he  had  a  spavin,  declared  he  would  not  take  him  for 
the  driving  home  ;  a  third  person  perceived  he  had  a  windgall, 
and  would  bid  no  money  ;  a  fourth  knew  by  his  eye  that  he 
had  the  botts  ;  a  fifth  wondered  what  a  plague  I  could  do  at 
the  fair  with  a  blind,  spavined,  galled  hack,  that  was  only  fit 
to  be  cut  up  for  a  dog-kennel.  By  this  time  I  began  to  have  a 
most  hearty  contempt  for  the  poor  animal  myself,  and  was 
almost  ashamed  at  the  approach  of  every  customer ;  for  though 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD 


57 


I  did  not  entirely  believe  all  the  fellows  told  me,  yet  I  re- 
flected that  the  number  of  witnesses  was  a  strong  presumption 
they  were  right ;  and  St.  Gregory  upon  Good  Works,  professes 
himself  to  be  of  the  same  opinion. 

I  was  in  this  mortifying  situation,  when  a  brother  clergy- 
man, an  old  acquaintance,  who  had  also  business  at  the  fair, 
came  up,  and  shaking  me  by  the  hand,  proposed  adjourning 
to  a  public-house,  and  taking  a  glass  of  whatever  we  could  get. 
I  readily  closed  with  the  offer,  and  entering  an  alehouse  we 
were  shown  into  a  little  back  room,  where  there  was  only  a 
venerable  old  man,  who  sat  wholly  intent  over  a  large  book, 
which  he  was  reading.  I  never  in  my  life  saw  a  figure  that 
prepossessed  me  more  favorably.  His  locks  of  silver  gray 
venerably  shaded  his  temples,  and  his  green  old  age  seemed 
to  be  the  result  of  health  and  benevolence.  However,  his 
presence  did  not  interrupt  our  conversation  :  my  friend  and  I 
discoursed  on  the  various  turns  of  fortune  we  had  met ;  the 
Whistonian  controversy,  my  last  pamphlet,  the  archdeacon's 
reply,  and  the  hard  measure  that  was  dealt  me.  But  our 
attention  was  in  a  short  time  taken  off  by  the  appearance  of  a 
youth,  who  entering  the  room,  respectfully  said  somethtng 
softly  to  the  old  stranger.  "Make  no  apologies  my  child," 
said  the  old  man,  "  to  do  good  is  a  duty  we  owe  to  all  our 
fellow-creatures ;  take  this,  I  wish  it  were  more ;  but  five 
pounds  will  relieve  your  distress,  and  you  are  welcome."  The 
modest  youth  shed  tears  of  gratitude,  and  yet  his  gratitude 
was  scarcely  equal  to  mine.  I  could  have  hugged  the  old  man 
in  my  arms,  his  benevolence  pleased  me  so.  He  continued  to 
read,  and  we  resumed  our  conversation,  until  my  companion, 
after  some  time,  recollecting  that  he  had  business  to  transact 
in  the  fair,  promised  to  be  soon  back,  adding,  that  he  always 
desired  to  have  as  much  of  Dr.  Primrose's  company  as  pos- 
sible. The  old  gentleman  hearing  my  name  mentioned,  seemed 
to  look  at  me  with  attention  for  some  time,  and  when  my 
friend  was  gone,  most  respectfully  demanded  if  I  was  any  way 
related  to  the  great  Primrose,  that  courageous  monogamist, 
who  had  been  the  bulwark  of  the  church.  Never  did  my  heart 
feel  sincerer  rapture  than  at  that  moment.  "  Sir,"  cried  I,  "  the 
applause  of  so  good  a  man,  as  I  am  sure  you  are,  adds  to  that 
happiness  in  my  breast  which  your  benevolence  has  already 
excited.  You  behold  before  you,  sir,  that  Dr.  Primrose,  the 
monogamist,  whom  you  have  been  pleased  to  call  great.  You 
here  see  that  unfortunate  divine,  who  has  so  long,  and  it  would 
ill  become  me  to  say  successfully,  fought  against  the  deuterog- 


58  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

omy  of  the  age." — "  Sir,"  cried  the  stranger,  struck  with  awe, 
"  I  fear  I  have  been  too  familiar ;  but  you'll  forgive  my  curios- 
ity, sir :  I  beg  pardon." — "  Sir,"  cried  I,  grasping  his  hand, 
"  you  are  so  far  from  displeasing  me  by  your  familiarity,  that  I 
must  beg  you'll  accept  my  friendship,  as  you  already  have  my 
esteem." — "  Then  with  gratitude  I  accept  the  offer,"  cried  he, 
squeezing  me  by  the  hand,  "  thou  glorious  pillar  of  unshaken 
orthodoxy  !  and  do  I  behold — "  I  here  interrupted  what  he 
was  going  to  say ;  for  though,  as  an  author,  I  could  digest  no 
small  share  of  flattery,  yet  now  my  modesty  would  permit  no 
more.  However,  no  lovers  in  romance  ever  cemented  a  more 
instantaneous  friendship.  We  talked  upon  several  subjects,  at 
first  I  thought  he  seemed  rather  devout  than  learned,  and  be- 
gan to  think  he  despised  all  human  doctrines  as  dross.  Yet 
this  no  way  lessened  him  in  my  esteem  ;  for  I  had  for  some 
time  begun  privately  to  harbor  such  an  opinion  myself.  I 
therefore  took  occasion  to  observe,  that  the  world  in  general 
began  to  be  blamably  indifferent  as  to  doctrinal  matters,  and 
followed  human  speculations  too  much — "  Ay,  sir,"  replied  he, 
as  if  he  had  reserved  all  his  learning  to  that  moment,  "  ay,  sir, 
the  world  is  in  its  dotage,  and  yet  the  cosmogony  or  creation 
of  the  world  has  puzzled  philosophers  of  all  ages.  What  a 
medley  of  opinions  have  they  not  broached  upon  the  creation 
of  the  world  !  Sanchoniathon,  Manetho,  Berosus,  and  Ocellus 
Lucanus  have  all  attempted  it  in  vain.  The  latter  has  these 
words,  Anarchon  ara  kai  atelutaion  to  pan,  which  imply  that  all 
things  have  neither  beginning  nor  end.  Manetho  also,  who 
lived  about  the  time  of  Nebuchadon-Asser, — Asser  being  a 
Syriac  word  usually  applied  as  a  surname  to  the  kings  of  that 
country,  as  Teglat  Phael-Asser,  Nabon-Asser,  —  he,  I  say, 
formed  a  conjecture  equally  absurd  ;  for  as  we  usually  say,  ek 
to  biblion  kubernetes,  which  implies  that  books  will  never  teach 
the  world  ;  so  he  attempted  to  investigate — But,  sir,  I  ask  par- 
don, I  am  straying  from  the  question." — That  he  actually  was  ; 
nor  could  I  for  my  life  see  how  the  creation  of  the  world  had 
anything  to  do  with  the  business  I  was  talking  of ;  but  it  was 
sufficient  to  show  me  that  he  was  a  man  of  letters,  and  I  now 
reverenced  him  the  more.  I  was  resolved  therefore  to  bring 
him  to  the  touchstone  ;  but  he  was  too  mild  and  too  gentle  to 
contend  for  victory.  Whenever  I  made  an  observation  that 
looked  like  a  challenge  to  controversy,  he  would  smile,  shake 
his  head,  and  say  nothing :  by  which  I  understood  he  could 
say  much,  if  he  thought  proper.  The  subject  therefore  insen- 
sibly changed  from  the  business  of  antiquity  to  that  which 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


59 


brought  us  both  to  the  fair :  mine,  I  told  him,  was  to  sell  a 
horse,  and  very  luckily  indeed,  his  was  to  buy  one  for  one  of 
his  tenants.  My  horse  was  soon  produced,  and  in  fine  we 
struck  a  bargain.  Nothing  now  remained  but  to  pay  me,  and 
he  accordingly  pulled  out  a  thirty  pound  note,  and  bid  me 
change  it.  Not  being  in  a  capacity  of  complying  with  this  de- 
mand, he  ordered  his  footman  to  be  called  up,  who  made  his 
appearance  in  a  very  genteel  livery.  "  Here,  Abraham,"  cried 
he,  "go  and  get  gold  for  this  ;  you'll  do  it  at  neighbor  Jack- 
son's or  anywhere."  While  the  fellow  was  gone,  he  enter- 
tained me  with  a  pathetic  harangue  on  the  great  scarcity  of 
silver,  which  I  undertook  to  improve,  by  deploring  also  the 
great  scarcity  of  gold ;  so  that  by  the  time  Abraham  returned, 
we  had  both  agreed  that  money  was  never  so  hard  to  be  come 
at  as  now.  Abraham  returned  to  inform  us,  that  he  had  been 
over  the  whole  fair,  and  could  not  get  change,  though  he  had 
offered  half  a  crown  for  doing  it.  This  was  a  very  great  dis- 
appointment to  us  all ;  but  the  old  gentleman,  having  paused 
a  little,  asked  me  if  I  knew  one  Solomon  Flamborough  in  my, 
part  of  the  country  ?  Upon  replying  that  he  was  my  next-door 
neighbor;  "if  that  be  the  case  then,"  returned  he,  "I  believe 
we  shall  deal.  You  shall  have  a  draft  upon  him  payable  at 
sight ;  and  let  me  tell  you,  he  is  as  warm  a  man  as  any  within 
five  miles  round  him.  Honest  Solomon  and  I  have  been  ac- 
quainted for  many  years  together.  I  remember  I  always  beat 
him  at  three  jumps  ;  but  he  could  hop  on  one  leg  farther  than 
I."  A  draft  upon  my  neighbor  was  to  me  the  same  as  money; 
for  I  was  sufficiently  convinced  of  his  ability.  The  draft  was 
signed,  and  put  into  my  hands,  and  Mr.  Jenkinson,  the  old 
gentleman,  his  man  Abraham,  and  my  horse,  old  Blackberry, 
trotted  off  very  well  pleased  with  each  other. 

After  a  short  interval,  being  left  to  reflection,  I  began  to 
recollect  that  I  had  done  wrong  in  taking  a  draft  from  a  stran- 
ger, and  so  prudently  resolved  upon  following  the  purchaser, 
and  having  back  my  horse.  But  this  was  now  too  late  ;  I 
therefore  made  directly  homewards,  resolving  to  get  the  draft 
changed  into  money  at  my  friend's  as  fast  as  possible.  I  found 
my  honest  neighbor  smoking  his  pipe  at  his  own  door,  and  in- 
forming him  that  I  had  a  small  bill  upon  him,  he  read  it  twice 
over.  "  You  can  read  the  name,  I  suppose,"  cried  I,  "  Eph- 
raim  Jenkinson."  "  Yes,"  returned  he,  "  the  name  is  written 
plain  enough,  and  I  know  the  gentleman  too,  the  greatest  ras- 
cal under  the  canopy  of  heaven.  This  is  the  very  same  rogue 
who  sold  us  the  spectacles.  Was  he  not  a  venerable  looking 


60  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

man,  with  gray  hair,  and  no  flaps  to  his  pocket-holes  ?  And 
did  he  not  talk  a  long  siring  of  learning  about  Greek,  and  cos- 
mogony, and  the  world  ? "  To  this  I  replied  with  a  groan. 
"  Ay,"  continued  he,  "  he  has  but  that  one  piece  of  learning  in 
the  world,  and  he  always  talks  it  away  whenever  he  finds  a 
scholar  in  company :  but  I  know  the  rogue,  and  will  catch  him 
yet." 

Though  I  was  already  sufficiently  mortified,  my  greatest 
struggle  was  to  come,  in  facing  my  wife  and  daughters.  No 
truant  was  ever  more  afraid  of  returning  to  school,  there  to 
behold  the  master's  visage,  than  I  was  of  going  home.  I  was 
determined,  however,  to  anticipate  their  fury,  by  first  falling 
into  a  passion  myself. 

But,  alas !  upon  entering,  I  found  the  family  no  way  dis- 
posed to  battle.  My  wife  and  girls  were  all  in  tears,  Mr. 
Thornhill  having  been  there  that  day  to  inform  them,  that  their 
journey  to  town  was  entirely  over.  The  two  ladies  having 
heard  reports  of  us  from  some  malicious  person  about  us,  were 
that  day  set  out  for  London.  He  could  neither  discover  the 
tendency,  nor  the  author  of  these  ;  but  whatever  they  might  be, 
or  whoever  might  have  broached  them,  he  continued  to  assure 
our  family  of  his  friendship  and  protection.  I  found,  there- 
fore, that  they  bore  my  disappointment  with  great  resignation, 
as  it  was  eclipsed  in  the  greatness  of  their  own.  But  what 
perplexed  us  most,  was  to  think  who  could  be  so  base  as  to 
asperse  the  character  of  a  family  so  harmless  as  ours,  too  hum- 
ble to  excite  envy,  and  too  inoffensive  to  create  disgust. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

All  Mr.  BurchelPs  villany  at  once  detected.— The  folly  of  being  over-wise. 

THAT  evening,  and  a  part  of  the  following  day,  was  em- 
ployed in  fruitless  attempts  to  discover  our  enemies  ;  scarcely 
a  family  in  the  neighborhood  but  incurred  our  suspicions,  and 
each  of  us  had  reasons  for  our  opinion  best  known  to  ourselves. 
As  we  were  in  this  perplexity,  one  of  our  little  boys,  who  had 
been  playing  abroad,  brought  in  a  letter-case  which  he  found 
on  the  green.  It  was  quickly  known  to  belong  to  Mr.  Burchell, 
with  whom  it  had  been  seen, .and,  upon  examination,  contained 
some  hints  upon  different  subjects ;  but  what  particularly  en- 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  fo 

gaged  our  attention  was  a  sealed  note  superscribed,  The  copy  of 
a  letter  to  be  sent  to  the  two  ladies  at  Thornhill-castle.  It  instantly 
occurred  that  he  was  the  base  informer,  and  we  deliberated 
whether  the  note  should  not  be  broken  open.  I  was  against 
it ;  but  Sophia,  who  said  she  was  sure  that  of  all  men  he  would 
be  the  last  to  be  guilty  of  so  much  baseness,  insisted  upon  its 
being  read.  In  this  she  was  seconded  by  the  rest  of  the  family, 
and  at  their  solicitation  I  read  as  follows : 

"  LADIES, 

"  The  bearer  will  sufficiently  satisfy  you  as  to  the  person 
from  whom  this  comes :  one  at  least  the  friend  of  innocence, 
and  ready  to  prevent  its  being  seduced.  I  am  informed  for  a 
truth  that  you  have  some  intention  of  bringing  two  young 
ladies  to  town,  whom  I  have  some  knowledge  of,  under  the 
character  of  companions.  As  I  would  neither  have  simplicity 
imposed  upon,  nor  virtue  contaminated,  I  must  offer  it  as  my 
opinion,  that  the  impropriety  of  such  a  step  will  be  attended 
with  dangerous  consequences.  It  has  never  been  my  way  to 
treat  the  infamous  or  the  lewd  with  severity ;  nor  should  I  now 
have  taken  this  method  of  explaining  myself,  or  reproving 
folly,  did  it  not  aim  at  guilt.  Take  therefore  the  admonition 
of  a  friend,  and  seriously  reflect  on  the  consequences  of  intro- 
ducing infamy  and  vice  into  retreats,  where  peace  and  inno- 
cence have  hitherto  resided." 

Our  doubts  were  now  at  an  end.  There  seemed  indeed 
something  applicable  to  both  sides  in  this  letter,  and  its  cen- 
sures might  as  well  be  referred  to  those  to  whom  it  was  written, 
as  to  us ;  but  the  malicious  meaning  was  obvious,  and  we  went 
no  farther.  My  wife  had  scarcely  patience  to  hear  me  to  the 
end,  but  railed  at  the  writer  with  unrestrained  resentment. 
Olivia  was  equally  severe,  and  Sophia  seemed  perfectly  amazed 
at  his  baseness.  As  for  my  part,  it  appeared  to  me  one  of  the 
vilest  instances  of  unprovoked  ingratitude  I  had  met  with  ;  nor 
could  I  account  for  it  in  any  other  manner,  than  by  imputing 
it  to  his  desire  of  detaining  my  youngest  daughter  in  the  coun- 
try, to  have  the  more  frequent  opportunities  of  an  interview. 
In  this  manner  we  all  set  ruminating  upon  schemes  of  ven- 
geance, when  our  other  little  boy  came  running  in  to  tell  us 
that  Mr.  Burchell  was  approaching  at  the  other  end  of  the 
field.  It  is  easier  to  conceive  than  describe  the  complicated 
sensations  which  are  felt  from  the  pain  of  a  recent  injury, 
and  the  pleasure  of  approaching  vengeance.  Though  our  in- 
tentions were  only  to  upbraid  him  with  his  ingratitude,  yet  it 


<J2  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

was  resolved  to  do  it  in  a  manner  that  would  be>  perfectly  cut- 
ting. For  this  purpose  we  agreed  to  meet  him  with  our  usual 
smiles;  to  chat  in  the  beginning  with  more  than  ordinary  kind- 
ness ;  to  amuse  him  a  little  ;  and  then,  in  the  midst  of  the 
flattering  calm,  to  burst  upon  him  like  an  earthquake,  and  over- 
whelm him  with  a  sense  of  his  own  baseness.  This  being  re- 
solved upon,  my  wife  undertook  to  manage  the  business  her- 
self, as  she  really  had  some  talents  for  such  an  undertaking. 
We  saw  him  approach  ;  he  entered,  drew  a  chair,  and  sat  down. 
— "  A  fine  day,  Mr.  Burchell." — "  A  very  fine  day,  doctor ; 
though  I  fancy  we  shall  have  some  rain  by  the  shooting  of  my 
corns."—"  The  shooting  of  your  corns  !  "  cried  my  wife  with  a 
loud  fit  laughter,  and  then  asked  pardon  for  being  fond  of  a 
joke. — "  Dear  madam,"  replied  he,  "  I  pardon  you  with  all  my 
heart,  for  I  protest  I  should  not  have  thought  it  a  joke  had  you 
not  told  me." — "  Perhaps  not,  sir,"  cried  my  wife,  winking  at 
us  •  "  and  yet  I  dare  say  you  can  tell  us  how  many  jokes  go  to 
an  ounce."  "I  fancy,  madam,"  returned  Mr.  Burchell,  "you 
have  been  reading  a  jest  book  this  morning,  that  ounce  of  jokes 
is  so  very  good  a  conceit ;  and  yet,  madam,  I  had  rather  see 
half  an  ounce  of  understanding." — "  I  believe  you  might,"  cried 
my  wife,  still  smiling  at  us,  though  the  laugh  was  against  her  : 
"  and  yet  I  have  seen  some  men  pretend  to  understanding  that 
have  very  little."  "  And  no  doubt,"  returned  the  antagonist, 
"you  have  known  ladies  set  up  for  wit  that  had  none."  I 
quickly  began  to  find  that  my  wife  was  likely  to  gain  but  little 
at  this  business  ;  so  I  resolved  to  treat  him  in  a  style  of  more 
severity  myself.  "  Both  wit  and  understanding,"  cried  I,  "  are 
trifles  without  integrity  ;  it  is  that  which  gives  value  to  every 
character.  The  ignorant  peasant  without  fault,  is  greater  than 
the  philosopher  with  many ;  for  what  is  genius  or  courage  with- 
out a  heart  ?  An  honest  man  is  the  nob  lest  work  of  God.v 

"  I  always  held  that  hackneyed  maxim  of  Pope,"  returned 
Mr.  Burchell,  "  as  very  unworthy  a  man  of  genius,  and  a  base 
desertion  of  his  own  superiority.  As  the  reputation  of  books 
is  raised,  not  by  their  freedom  from  defect,  but  the  greatness 
of  their  beauties ;  so  should  that  of  men  be  prized,  not  for  their 
exemption  from  fault,  but  the  size  of  those  virtues  they  are 
possessed  of.  The  scholar  may  want  prudence,  the  statesman 
may  have  pride,  and  the  champion  ferocity ;  but  shall  we  prefer 
to  these  the  low  mechanic,  who  laboriously  plods  through  life 
without  censure  or  applause  ?  We  might  as  well  prefer  the 
tame,  correct  paintings  of  the  Flemish  school  to  the  erroneous 
but  sublime  animations  of  the  Roman  pencil," 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD  63 

"  Sir,"  replied  I,  "  your  present  observation  is  just,  when 
there  are  shining  virtues  and  minute  defects,  but  when  it  ap- 
pears that  great  vices  are  opposed  in  the  same  mind  to  as  ex- 
traordinary virtues,  such  a  character  deserves  contempt." 

"  Perhaps,"  cried  he,  "  there  may  be  some  such  monsters 
as  you  describe,  of  great  vices  joined  to  great  virtues  ;  yet  in 
my  progress  through  life,  I  never  yet  found  one  instance  of 
their  existence  ;  on  the  contrary,  I  have  ever  perceived,  that 
where  the  mind  was  capacious,  the  affections  were  good.  And 
indeed  Providence  seems  kindly  our  friend  in  this  particular, 
thus  to  debilitate  the  understanding  where  the  heart  is  corrupt, 
and  diminish  the  power,  where  there  is  the  will  to  do  mischief. 
This  rule  seems  to  extend  even  to  other  animals  :  the  little 
vermin  race  are  ever  treacherous,  cruel,  and  cowardly,  whilst 
those  endowed  with  strength  and  power  are  generous,  brave, 
and  gentle." 

"  These  observations  sound  well,"  returned  I,  "  and  yet  it 
would  be  easy  this  moment  to  point  out  a  man,"  and  I  fixed  my 
eye  steadfastly  upon  him,  "  whose  head  and  heart  form  a  most 
detestable  contrast.  Ay,  sir,"  continued  I,  raising  my  voice, 
"  and  I  am  glad  to  have  this  opportunity  of  detecting  him  in 
the  midst  of  his  fancied  security.  Do  you  know  this,  sir,  this 
pocket-book  ?  " — "  Yes,  sir,"  returned  he,  with  a  face  of  im- 
penetrable assurance,  "  that  pocket-book  is  mine,  and  I  am 
glad  you  have  found  it." — "  And  do  you  know,"  cried  I,  "  this 
letter  ?  Nay,  never  falter,  man  ;  but  look  me  full  in  the  face  : 
I  say,  do  you  know  this  letter?  "  "  That  letter,"  returned  he  ; 
"yes,  it  was  I  that  wrote  that  letter." — "  And  how  could  you," 
said  I,  "  so  basely,  so  ungratefully  presume  to  write  this 
letter  ?  " — "  And  how  came  you,"  replied  he  with  looks  of  i  n- 
paralleled  effrontery,  "  so  basely  to  presume  to  break  open 
this  letter  ?  Don't  you  know,  now,  I  could  hang  you  for  all 
this  ?  All  that  I  have  to  do  is  to  swear  at  the  next  justice's, 
that  you  have  been  guilty  of  breaking  open  the  lock  of  my 
pocket-book,  and  so  hang  you  all  up  at  this  door."  This  piece 
of  unexpected  insolence  raised  me  to  such  a  pitch,  that  I  could 
scarce  govern  my  passion.  "  Ungrateful  wretch  !  begone,  and 
no  longer  pollute  my  dwelling  with  thy  baseness  !  begone,  and 
never  let  me  see  thee  again  !  Go  from  my  door,  and  the  only 
punishment  I  wish  thee  is  an  alarmed  conscience,  which  will 
be  a  sufficient  tormentor  !  "  So  saying,  I  threw  him  his  pocket- 
book,  which  he  took  up  with  a  smile,  and  shutting  the  clasps 
with  the  utmost  composure,  left  us  quite  astonished  at  the 
serenity  of  his  assurance.  My  wife  was  particularly  enraged 


64  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

that  nothing  could  maKe  him  angry,  or  make  him  seem  ashamed 
of  his  villanies.  "  My  dear,"  cried  I,  willing  to  calm  those 
passions  that  had  been  raised  too  high  among  us,  "we  are 
not  to  be  surprised  that  bad  men  want  shame ;  they  only  blush 
at  being  detected  in  doing  good,  but  glory  in  their  vices. 

"  Guilt  and  Shame,  says  the  allegory,  were  at  first  compan- 
ions, and  in  the  beginning  of  their  journey,  inseparably  kept 
together.  But  their  union  was  soon  found  to  be  disagreeable 
and  inconvenient  to  both  ;  Guilt  gave  Shame  frequent  uneasi- 
ness, and  Shame  often  betrayed  the  secret  conspiracies  of  Guilt. 
After  long  disagreement,  therefore,  they  at  length  consented  to 
part  forever.  Guilt  boldly  walked  forward  alone  to  overtake 
Fate,  that  went  before  them  in  the  shape  of  an  executioner ; 
but  Shame  being  naturally  timorous,  returned  back  to  keep 
company  with  Virtue,  which  in  the  beginning  of  their  journey 
they  had  left  behind.  Thus,  my  children,  after  men  have 
travelled  through  a  few  stages  in  vice,  shame  forsakes  them, 
and  returns  back  to  wait  upon  the  few  virtues  they  have  still 
remaining." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

The  family  use  Art,  which  is  opposed  with  still  greater. 

WHATEVER  might  have  been  Sophia's  sensations,  the  rest  of 
the  family  was  easily  consoled  for  Mr.  BurchelPs  absence  by 
the  company  of  our  landlord,  whose  visits  now  became  more 
frequent  and  longer.  Though  he  had  been  disappointed  in 
procuring  my  daughters  the  amusements  of  the  town,  as  he 
designed,  he  took  every  opportunity  of  supplying  them  with 
those  little  recreations  which  our  retirement  would  admit  of. 
He  usually  came  in  the  morning,  and  while  my  son  and  I  fol- 
lowed our  occupations  abroad,  he  sat  with  the  family  at  home, 
and  amused  them  by  describing  the  town,  with  every  part  of 
which  he  was  particularly  acquainted.  He  could  repeat  all  the 
observations  that  were  retailed  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  play- 
houses, and  had  all  the  good  things  of  the  high  wits  by  rote, 
long  before  they  made  their  way  into  the  jest-books.  The 
intervals  between  conversation  were  employed  in  teaching  my 
daughters  piquet,  or  sometimes  in  setting  my  two  little  ones  to 
box,  to  make  them  sharp,  as  he  called  it:  but  the  hopes  of 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  65 

having  him  for  a  son-in-law,  in  some  measure  blinded  us  to  all 
his  imperfections.  It  must  be  owned,  that  my  wife  laid  a 
thousand  schemes  to  entrap  him  ;  or,  to  speak  more  tenderly, 
used  every  art  to  magnify  the  merit  of  her  daughter.  If  the 
cakes  at  tea  ate  short  and  crisp,  they  were  made  by  Olivia  ;  if 
the  gooseberry-wine  was  well  knit,  the  gooseberries  were  of  her 
gathering :  it  was  her  ringers  which  gave  the  pickles  their 
peculiar  green ;  and  in  the  composition  of  a  pudding,  it  was 
her  judgment  that  mixed  the  ingredients.  Then  the  poor 
woman  would  sometimes  tell  the  'Squire,  that  she  thought  him 
and  Olivia  extremely  of  a  size,  and  would  bid  both  stand  up  to 
see  which  was  the  tallest.  These  instances  of  cunning,  which 
she  thought  impenetrable,  yet  which  everybody  saw  through, 
were  very  pleasing  to  our  benefactor,  who  gave  every  day  some 
new  proofs  of  his  passion,  which,  though  they  had  not  arisen  to 
proposals  of  marriage,  yet  we  thought  fell  but  little  short  of  it ; 
and  his  slowness  was  attributed  sometimes  to  native  bashful- 
ness,  and  sometimes  to  his  fear  of  offending  his  uncle.  An 
occurrence,  however,  which  happened  soon  after,  put  it  beyond 
a  doubt  that  he  designed  to  become  one  of  our  family  ;  my 
wife  even  regarded  it  as  an  absolute  promise. 

My  wife  and  daughters  happening  to  return  a  visit  to  neigh- 
bor Flamborough's,  found  that  family  had  lately  got  their  pic- 
tures drawn  by  a  limner,  who  travelled  the  country,  and  took 
likenesses  for  fifteen  shillings  a  head.  As  this  family  and  ours 
had  long  a  sort  of  rivalry  in  point  of  taste,  our  spirit  took  the 
alarm  at  this  stolen  march  upon  us,  and  notwithstanding  all  I 
could  say,  and  I  said  much,  it  was  resolved  that  we  should  have 
pictures  done  too.  Having,  therefore,  engaged  the  limner, — 
for  what  could  I  do  ? — our  next  deliberation  was  to  show  the 
superiority  of  our  tastes  in  the  attitudes.  As  for  our  neighbor's 
family,  there  were  seven  of  them,  and  they  were  drawn  with 
seven  oranges  ,  a  thing  quite  out  of  taste,  no  variety  in  life,  no 
composition  in  the  world.  We  desired  to  have  something  in  a 
brighter  style,  and,  after  many  debates,  at  length  came  to  an 
unanimous  resolution  of  being  drawn  together  in  one  large 
historical  family  piece.  This  would  be  cheaper,  since  one  frame 
would  serve  for  all,  and  it  would  be  infinitely  more  genteel ;  for 
all  families  of  any  taste  were  now  drawn  in  the  same  manner. 
As  we  did  not  immediately  recollect  an  historical  subject  to  hit 
us,  we  were  contented  each  with  being  drawn  as  independent 
historical  figures.  My  wife  desired  to  be  represented  as  Venus, 
and  the  painter  was  desired  not  to  be  too  frugal  of  his  diamonds 
in  her  stomacher  and  hair.  Her  two  little  ones  were  to  be  a§ 

5 


66  VICAR  OF  WAKEF1ELD. 

Cupids  by  her  side,  while  I  in  my  gown  and  band,  was  to  pre- 
sent her  with  my  books  on  the  Whistonian  controversy.  Olivia 
would  be  drawn  as  an  Amazon  sitting  upon  a  bank  of  flowers, 
dressed  in  a  green  Joseph,  richly  laced  with  gold,  and  a  whip 
in  her  hand.  Sophia  was  to  be  a  shepherdess,  with  as  many 
sheep  as  the  painter  could  put  in  for  nothing ;  and  Moses  was 
to  be  dressed  out  with  a  hat  and  white  feather.  Our  taste  so 
much  pleased  the  'Squire,  that  he  insisted  as  being  put  in  as 
one  of  the  family  in  the  character  of  Alexander  the  Great,  at 
Olivia's  feet.  This  was  considered  by  us  all  as  an  indication 
of  his  desire  to  be  introduced  into  the  family,  nor  could  we  re- 
fuse this  request.  The  painter  was  therefore  set  to  work,  and 
as  he  wrought  with  assiduity  and  expedition,  in  less  than  four 
days  the  whole  was  completed.  The  piece  was  large,  and  it 
must  be  owned  he  did  not  spare  his  colors ;  for  which  my  wife 
gave  him  great  encomiums.  We  were  all  perfectly  satisfied 
with  his  performance  ;  but  an  unfortunate  circumstance  had 
not  occurred  till  the  picture  was  finished,  which  now  struck  us 
with  dismay.  It  was  so  very  large  that  we  had  no  place  in 
the  house  to  fix  it.  How  we  all  came  to  disregard  so  material 
a  point  is  inconceivable ;  but  certain  it  is,  we  had  been  all 
greatly  remiss.  The  picture  therefore  instead  of  gratifying  our 
vanity,  as  we  hoped,  leaned,  in  a  most  mortifying  manner, 
against  the  kitchen  wall,  where  the  canvas  was  stretched  and 
painted,  much  too  large  to  be  got  through  any  of  the  doors, 
and  the  jest  of  all  our  neighbors.  One  compared  it  to  Robin- 
son Crusoe's  long-boat,  too  large  to  be  removed ;  another 
thought  it  more  resembled  a  reel  in  a  bottle  :  some  wondered 
how  it  could  be  got  out,  but  still  more  were  amazed  how  it  ever 
got  in. 

But  though  it  excited  the  ridicule  of  =ome,  it  effectually 
raised  more  malicious  suggestions  in  many.  The  'Squire's  por- 
trait being  found  united  with  ours,  was  an  honor  too  great  to 
escape  envy.  Scandalous  whispers  began  to  circulate  at  our 
expense,  and  our  tranquillity  was  continually  disturbed  by  per- 
sons who  came  as  friends  to  tell  us  what  was  said  of  us  by 
enemies.  These  reports  we  always  resented  with  becoming 
spirit ;  trat  scandal  ever  improves  by  opposition. 

We  once  again  therefore  entered  into  a  consultation  upon 
obviating  the  malice  of  our  enemies,  and  at  last  came  to  a  reso- 
lution which  had  too  much  cunning  to  give  me  entire  satisfac- 
tion. It  was  this  :  as  our  principal  object  was  to  discover  the 
honor  of  Mr.  Thornhill's  addresses,  my  wife  undertook  to  sound 
him,  by  pretending  to  ask  his  advice  in  the  choice  of  a  husband 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  fy 

for  her  eldest  daughter.  If  this  was  not  found  sufficient  to  in- 
duce him  to  a  declaration,  it  was  then  resolved  to  terrify  him 
with  a  rival.  To  this  last  step,  however,  I  would  by  no  means 
give  my  consent,  till  Olivia  gave  me  the  most  solemn  assur- 
ances that  she  would  marry  the  person  provided  to  rival  him 
upon  this  occasion,  if  he  did  not  prevent  it  by  taking  her  him- 
self. Such  was  the  scheme  laid,  which  though  I  did  not  strenu- 
ously oppose,  I  did  not  entirely  approve. 

The  next  time,  therefore,  that  Mr.  Thornhill  came  to  see 
us,  my  girls  took  care  to  be  out  of  the  way,  in  order  to  give 
their  mamma  an  opportunity  of  putting  her  scheme  into  execu- 
tion ;  but  they  only  retired  to  the  next  room,  whence  they  could 
overhear  the  whole  conversation.  My  wife  artfully  introduced 
it,  by  observing,  that  one  of  the  Miss  Flamboroughs  was  like 
to  have  a  very  good  match  of  it  in  Mr.  Spanker.  To  this  the 
'Squire  assenting,  she  proceeded  to  remark,  that  they  who  had 
warm  fortunes  were  always  sure  of  getting  good  husbands  ; 
"  But  heaven  help,"  continued  she,  "  the  girls  that  have  none. 
What  signifies  beauty,  Mr.  Thornhill  ?  or  what  signifies  all  the 
virtue,  and  all  the  qualifications  in  the  world,  in  this  age  of  self- 
interest  ?  It  is  not, what  is  she  ?  but  what  has  she  ?  is  all  the  cry." 

"  Madam,"  returned  he,  "  I  highly  approve  the  justice,  as 
well  as  the  novelty  of  your  remarks,  and  if  I  were  a  king,  it 
should  be  otherwise.  It  should  then,  indeed,  be  fine  times 
with  the  girls  without  fortunes  :  our  two  young  ladies  should  be 
the  first  for  whom  I  would  provide." 

"Ah,  sir,"  returned  my  wife  ''you  are  pleased  to  be  face- 
tious :  but  I  wish  I  were  a  queen,  and  then  I  know  where  my 
eldest  daughter  should  look  for  a  husband.  But  now,  that  you 
have  put  it  into  my  head,  seriously,  Mr.  Thornhill,  can't 
you  recommend  me  a  proper  husband  for  her  ?  she  is  now 
nineteen  years  old,  well  grown  and  well  educated,  and,  in  my 
humble  opinion,  does  not  want  for  parts." 

"  Madam,"  replied  he,  "  if  I  were  to  choose,  I  would  find  out 
a  person  possessed  of  every  accomplishment  that  can  make  an 
angel  happy.  One  with  prudence,  fortune,  taste,  and  sincerity  ; 
such,  madam,  would  be,  in  my  opinion,  the  proper  husband." 
"  Ay,  sir,"  said  she,  "  but  do  you  know  of  any  such  person  ?  " 
— "  No,  madam,"  returned  he,  "  It  is  impossible  to  know  any 
person  that  deserves  to  be  her  husband  :  she's  too  great  a 
treasure  for  one  man's  possession  ;  she's  a  goddess  !  Upon 
my  soul,"  I  speak  what  I  think;  she's  an  angel." — "  Ah,  Mr. 
Thornhill,  you  only  flatter  my  poor  girl ;  but  we  have  been 
thinking  of  marrying  her  to  one  of  your  tenants  whose  mother 


68  VICAR  OP  WAKEFIELD. 

is  lately  dead,  and  who  wants  a  manager :  you  know  whom  I 
mean,  Farmer  Williams ;  a  warm  man,  Mr.  Thornhill,  able  to 
give  her  good  bread  ;  and  who  has  several  times  made  her  pro- 
posals (which  was  actually  the  case)  :  but,  sir,"  concluded  she, 
"  I  should  be  glad  to  have  your  approbation  of  our  choice." 
— "  How  !  madam  !  "  replied  he,  "  my  approbation  !  My  appro- 
bation of  such  a  choice  ! — Never.  What !  sacrifice  so  much 
beauty,  and  sense,  and  goodness,  to  a  creature  insensible  of  the 
blessing  !  Excuse  me,  I  can  never  approve  of  such  a  piece  of 
injustice  !  And  I  have  my  reasons." — "  Indeed,  sir,"  cried 
Deborah,  "  if  you  have  your  reasons,  that's  another  affair  ;  but 
I  should  be  glad  to  know  those  reasons."  — "  Excuse  me, 
madam,"  returned  he,  "they  lie  too  deep  for  discovery  (laying 
his  hand  upon  his  bosom)  ;  they  remain  buried,  rivetted  here." 
After  he  was  gone,  upon  a  general  consultation,  we  could 
not  tell  what  to  make  of  these  fine  sentiments.  Olivia  consid- 
ered them  as  instances  of  the  most  exalted  passion  ;  but  I  was 
not  quite  so  sanguine  ;  it  seemed  to  me  pretty  plain,  that  they 
had  more  of  love  than  matrimony  in  them  ;  yet  whatever  they 
might  portend,  it  was  resolved  to  prosecute  the  scheme  of 
Farmer  Williams,  who,  from  my  daughter's  first  appearance  in 
the  country,  had  paid  her  his  addresses 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Scarcely  any  Virtue  found  to  resist  the  power  of  long  and  pleasing  Temptation. 

As  I  only  studied  my  child's  real  happiness,  the  assiduity 
of  Mr.  Williams  pleased  me,  as  he  was  in  easy  circumstances, 
prudent,  and  sincere.  It  required  but  very  little  encourage- 
ment to  revive  his  former  passion ;  so  that  in  an  evening  or 
two  he  and  Mr.  Thornhill  met  at  our  house,  and  surveyed  each 
other  for  some  time  with  looks  of  anger  ;  but  Williams  owed 
his  landlord  no  rent,  and  little  regarded  his  indignation.  Olivia 
on  her  side,  acted  the  coquette  to  perfection,  if  that  might  be 
called  acting  which  was  her  real  character,  pretending  to  lavish 
all  her  tenderness  on  her  new  lover.  Mr.  Thornhill  appeared 
quite  dejected  at  this  preference,  and  with  a  pensive  air  took 
leave,  though  I  own  it  puzzled  me  to  find  him  so  much  in  pain 
as  he  appeared  to  be,  when  he  had  it  in  his  power  so  easily  to 
remove  the  cause,  by  declaring  an  honorable  passion.  But 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  69 

whatever  uneasiness  he  seemed  to  endure,  it  could  easily  be 
perceived  that  Olivia's  anguish  was  still  greater.  After  any  of 
these  interviews  between  her  lovers,  of  which  there  were  sev- 
eral, she  usually  retired  to  solitude,  and  there  indulged  hei 
grief.  It  was  in  such  a  situation  I  found  her  one  evening, 
after  she  had  been  for  some  time  supporting  a  fictitious  gayety. 
"  You  now  see,  my  child,"  said  I,  "  that  your  confidence  in  Mr. 
Thornhill's  passion  was  all  a  dream ;  he  permits  the  rivalry  of 
another,  every  way  his  inferior,  though  he  knows  it  lies  in  his 
power  to  secure  you  to  himself  by  a  candid  declaration." — 
"  Yes,  papa,"  returned  she,  "  but  he  has  his  reasons  for  this 
delay,  I  know  he  has.  The  sincerity  of  his  looks  and  words 
convinces  me  of  his  real  esteem.  A  short  time,  I  hope,  will 
discover  the  generosity  of  his  sentiments,  and  convince  you 
that  my  opinion  of  him  has  been  more  just  than  yours." — 
"  Olivia,  my  darling,"  returned  I,  "  every  scheme  that  has  been 
hitherto  pursued  to  compel  him  to  a  declaration,  has  been  pro- 
posed and  planned  by  yourself,  nor  can  you  in  the  least  say 
that  I  have  constrained  you.  But  you  must  not  suppose,  my 
dear,  that  I  will  be  instrumental  in  suffering  his  honest  rival  to 
be  the  dupe  of  your  ill-placed  passion.  Whatever  time  you 
require  to  bring  your  fancied  admirer  to  an  explanation,  shall 
be  granted  ;  but  at  the  expiration  of  that  term,  if  he  is  still  re- 
gardless, I  must  absolutely  insist  that  honest  Mr.  Williams 
shall  be  rewarded  for  his  fidelity.  The  character  which  I  have 
hitherto  supported  in  life  demands  this  from  me,  and  my  ten- 
derness as  a  parent  shall  never  influence  my  integrity  as  a  man. 
Name  then  your  day  ;  let  it  be  as  distant  as  you  think  proper ; 
and  in  the  meantime  take  care  to  let  Mr.  Thornhill  know  the 
exact  time  on  which  I  design  delivering  you  up  to  another.  If 
he  really  loves  you,  his  own  good  sense  will  readily  suggest 
that  there  is  but  one  method  alone  to  prevent  his  losing  you  for- 
r  ever." — This  proposal,  which  she  could  not  avoid  considering 
as  perfectly  just,  was  readily  agreed  to.  She  again  renewed 
her  most  positive  promise  of  marrying  Mr.  Williams  in  case  of 
the  other's  insensibility  ;  and  at  the  next  opportunity,  in  Mr. 
Thornhill's  presence,  that  day  month  was  fixed  upon  for  her 
nuptials  with  his  rival. 

Such  vigorous  proceedings  seemed  to  redouble  Mr.  Thorn- 
hill's  anxiety  :  but  what  Olivia  really  felt  gave  me  some  un- 
easiness. In  this  struggle  between  prudence  and  passion,  her 
vivacity  quite  forsook  her,  and  every  opportunity  of  solitude 
was  sought  and  spent  in  tears.  One  week  passed  away ;  but 
Mr.  Thornhill  made  no  effort  to  restrain  her  nuptials.  The 


ye  VICAR  OF  WAKEFTELD. 

succeeding  week  he  was  still  assiduous  ;  but  not  more  open. 
On  the  third  he  discontinued  his  visits  entirely,  and  instead  of 
my  daughter  testifying  any  impatience,  as  I  expected,  she 
seemed  to  retain  a  pensive  tranquillity,  which  I  looked  upon  as 
resignation.  For  my  own  part,  I  was  now  sincerely  pleased 
with  thinking  that  my  child  was  going  to  be  secured  in  a  con- 
tinuance of  competence  and  peace,  and  frequently  applauded 
her  resolution,  in  preferring  happiness  to  ostentation. 

It  was  within  about  four  days  of  her  intended  nuptials,  that 
my  little  family  at  night  were  gathered  round  a  charming  fire, 
telling  stories  of  the  past,  and  laying  schemes  for  the  future ; 
busied  in  forming  a  thousand  projects,  and  laughing  at  what- 
ever folly  came  uppermost.  "Well,  Moses,"  cried  I,  "  we  shall 
soon,  my  boy,  have  a  wedding  in  the  family ;  what  is  your 
opinion  of  matters  and  things  in  general  ? " — "  My  opinion, 
father,  is,  that  all  things  go  on  very  well ;  and  I  was  just  now 
thinking,  that  when  sister  Livy  is  married  to  Farmer  Williams, 
we  shall  then  have  the  loan  of  his  cider  press  and  brewing  tubs 
for  nothing." — "  That  we  shall,  Moses,"  cried  I,  "  and  he  will 
sing  us  Death  and  the  Lady,  to  raise  our  spirits,  into  the  bar- 
gain." "  He  has  taught  that  song  to  our  Dick,"  cried  Moses, 
"  and  I  think  he  goes  through  it  very  prettily."  "  Does  he  so  ?  " 
cried  I,  "  then  let  us  have  it :  where's  little  Dick  ?  let  him  up 
with  it  boldly." — "  My  brother  Dick,"  cried  Bill,  my  youngest, 
"  is  just  gone  out  with  sister  Livy  ;  but  Mr.  Williams  has 
taught  me  two  songs,  and  I'll  sing  them  for  you,  papa.  Which 
song  do  you  choose,  27ie  Dying  Swan  or  the  Elegy  on  the  Death  of 
a  Mad  Dog?"  "  The  elegy,  child,  by  all  means,"  said  I ;  "  I 
never  heard  that  yet;  and  Deborah,  my  life,  grief,  you  know, 
is  dry,  let  us  have  a  bottle  of  the  best  gooseberry  wine  to  keep 
up  our  spirits.  I  have  wept  so  much  at  all  sorts  of  elegies  of 
late,  that,  without  an  enlivening  glass,  I  am  sure  this  will  over- 
come me  ;  and  Sophy,  love,  take  your  guitar,  and  thrum  in  with 
the  boy  a  little." 

AN  ELEGY  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  MAD  DOG. 

GOOD  people  all  of  every  sort, 

Give  ear  unto  my  song, 
And  if  you  find  it  wondrous  short, 

It  cannot  hold  you  long. 

In  Islington  there  was  a  man, 

Of  whom  the  world  might  say, 
.  That  still  a  godly  race  he  ran, 
Whene'er  he  went  to  pray.  • 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  7 1 

A  kind  and  gentle  heart  he  had, 

To  comfort  friends  and  foes  ; 
The  naked  every  day  he  clad, 

When  he  put  on  his  clothes. 

And  in  that  town  a  dog  was  found, 

As  many  dogs  there  be, 
Both  mongrel,  puppy,  whelp,  and  hound, 

And  curs  of  low  degree. 

This  dog  and  man  at  first  were  friends; 

But  when  a  pique  began, 
The  dog,  to  gain  some  private  ends 

Went  mad,  and  bit  the  man. 

Around  from  all  the  neighboring  streets, 

The  wondering  neighbors  ran, 
And  swore  the  dog  had  lost  his  wits, 

To  bite  so  good  a  man. 

The  wound  it  seem'd  both  sore  and  sad 

To  every  Christian  eye  ; 
And  while  they  swore  the  dog  was  mad, 

They  swore  the  man  would  die. 

But  soon  a  wonder  came  to  light, 

That  showed  the  rogues  they  lied, — 
The  man  recovered  of  the  bite 

The  dog  it  was  that  died. 

"  A  very  good  boy,  Bill,  upon  my  word,  and  an  elegy  that 
may  truly  be  called  tragical.  Come,  my  children,  here's  Bill's 
health,  and  may  he  one  day  be  a  bishop !  " 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  cried  my  wife ;  "  and  if  he  but 
preaches  as  well  as  he  sings,  I  make  no  doubt  of  him.  The 
most  of  his  family,  by  the  mother's  side,  could  sing  a  good 
song  :  it  was  a  common  saying  in  our  country,  that  the  family 
of  the  Blenkinsops  could  never  look  straight  before  them,  nor 
the  Hugginsons  blow  out  a  candle  ;  that  there  were  none  of 
the  Grognams  but  could  sing  a  song,  or  of  Marjorams  but  could 
tell  a  story." — "  However  that  be,"  cried  I,  "  the  most  vulgar 
ballad  of  them  all  generally  pleases  me  better  than  the  fine 
modern  odes,  and  things  that  petrify  us  in  a  single  stanza ; 
productions  that  we  at  once  detest  and  praise.  Put  the  glass 
to  your  brother,  Moses.  The  great  fault  of  these  elegiasts  is, 
that  they  are  in  despair  for  griefs  that  gives  the  sensible  part 
of  mankind  very  little  pain.  A  lady  loses  her  muff,  her  fan,  or 
her  lap-dog,  and  so  the  silly  poet  runs  home  to  versify  the 
disaster." 

"  That  may  be  the  mode,"  cried  Moses,  "  in  sublimer  com- 
positions ;  but  the  Ranelagh  songs  that  come  down  to  us  are 


72  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

perfectly  familiar,  and  all  cast  in  the  same  mould  :  Colin  meets 
Dolly,  and  they  hold  a  dialogue  together  ;  he  gives  her  a  fairing 
to  put  in  her  hair,  and  she  presents  him  with  a  nosegay  ;  and 
then  they  go  together  to  church,  where  they  give  good  advice 
to  young  nymphs  and  swains  to  get  married  as  fast  as  they 
can." 

"  And  very  good  advice  too,"  cried  I ;  "  and  I  am  told 
there  is  .not  a  place  in  the  world  where  advice  can  be  given 
with  so  much  propriety  as  there  ;  for  as  it  persuades  us  to 
marry,  it  also  furnishes  us  with  a  wife  :  and  surely  that  must  be 
an  excellent  market,  my  boy,  where  we  are  told  what  we  want, 
and  supplied  with  it  when  wanting." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  returned  Moses,  "  and  I  know  of  but  two  such 
markets  for  wives  in  Europe,  Ranelagh  in  England,  and  Font- 
arabia  in  Spain.  The  Spanish  market  is  open  once  a  year ; 
but  our  English  wives  are  saleable  every  night." 

"  You  are  right,  my  boy,"  cried  his  mother  ;  "  Old  England 
is  the  only  place  in  the  world  for  husbands  to  get  wives." — And 
for  wives  to  manage  their  husbands,"  interrupted  I.  "  It  is  a 
proverb  abroad,  that  if  a  bridge  were  built  across  the  sea,  all  the 
ladies  of  the  continent  would  come  over  to  take  patterns  from 
ours  ;  for  there  are  no  such  wives  in  Europe  as  our  own.  But  let 
us  have  one  bottle  more,  Deborah,  my  life  ;  and  Moses,  give  us 
a  good  song.  What  thanks  do  we  not  owe  to  Heaven  for  thus 
bestowing  tranquillity,  health,  and  competence.  I  think  myself 
happier  now  than  the  greatest  monarch  upon  earth.  He  has 
no  such  fireside,  nor  such  pleasant  faces  about  it.  Yes,  Deb- 
orah, we  are  now  growing  old  ;  but  the  evening  of  our  life  is 
likely  to  be  happy.  We  are  descended  from  ancestors  that 
knew  no  stain,  and  we  shall  leave  a  good  and  virtuous  race  of 
children  behind  us.  While  we  live,  they  will  be  our  support 
and  our  pleasure  here  ;  and  when  we  die,  they  will  transmit 
our  honor  untainted  to  posterity.  Come,  my  son,  we  wait  for 
a  song  :  let  us  have  a  chorus.  But  where  is  my  darling  Olivia  ? 
That  little  cherub's  voice  is  always  sweetest  in  the  concert." — 
Just  as  I  spoke,  Dick  came  running  in,  "  O  papa,  papa,  she 
is  gone  from  us,  she  is  gone  from  us ;  my  sister  Livy  is  gone 
from  us  forever." — "  Gone,  child  !  "  "  Yes,  she  is  gone  off  with 
two  gentlemen  in  a  postchaise,  and  one  of  them  kissed  her,  and 
said  he  would  die  for  her  :  and  she  cried  very  much,  and  was 
for  coming  back  ;  but  he  persuaded  her  again,  and  she  went 
into  the  chaise,  and  said,  O  what  will  my  poor  papa  do  when 
he  knows  I  am  undone  !  "  "  Now  then,"  cried  I,  "  my  children, 
go  and  be  miserable  ;  for  we  shall  never  enjoy  one  hour  more. 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  ,., 

And  O,  may  Heaven's  everlasting  fury  light  upon  him  and  his  1 
— Thus  to  rob  me  of  my  child  ! — And  sure  it  will,  for  taking 
back  my  sweet  innocent  that  I  was  leading  up  to  Heaven. 
Such  sincerity  as  my  child  was  possessed  of ! — But  all  out 
earthly  happiness  is  now  over !  Go,  my  children,  go  and  be 
miserable  and  infamous  :  for  my  heart  is  broken  within  me  1 " — 
"  Father,"  cried  my  son,  "  is  this  your  fortitude  ?  " — "  Fortitude, 
child  !  Yes,  he  shall  see  I  have  fortitude  !  Bring  me  my 
pistols.  I'll  pursue  the  traitor  :  while  he  is  on  earth  I'll  pursue 
him.  Old  as  I  am  he  shall  find  I  can  sting  him  yet.  The  vil- 
lain !  The  perfidious  villain  !  "  I  had  by  this  time  reached 
down  my  pistols,  when  my  poor  wife,  whose  passions  were  not 
so  strong  as  mine,  caught  me  in  her  arms.  "  My  dearest,  dear- 
est husband,"  cried  she,  "  the  Bible  is  the  only  weapon  that  is 
fit  for  your  old  hands  now.  Open  that,  my  love,  and  read  our 
anguish  into  patience,  for  she  has  vilely  deceived  us." — "  In- 
deed, sir,"  resumed  my  son,  after  a  pause,  "  your  rage  is  too 
violent  and  unbecoming.  You  should  be  my  mother's  comfor- 
ter, and  you  increase  her  pain.  It  ill  suited  you  and  your  rev- 
erend character,  thus  to  curse  your  greatest  enemy  :  you  should 
not  have  cursed  him,  villain  as  he  is." — "  I  did  not  curse  him, 
child,  did  I  ?  " — "  Indeed,  sir,  you  did  ;  you  cursed  him  twice." 
— "  Then  may  Heaven  forgive  me  and  him  if  I  did  !  And  now, 
my  son,  I  see  it  was  more  than  human  benevolence  that  first 
taught  us  to  bless  our  enemies !  Blessed  be  his  holy  name  for 
all  the  good  he  hath  given,  and  for  all  that  he  hath  taken  away. 
But  it  is  not — it  is  not  a  small  distress  that  can  wring  tears 
from  these  old  eyes,  that  have  not  wept  for  so  many  years. 
My  child  ! — To  undo  my  darling! — May  confusion  seize — Hea- 
ven forgive  me,  what  am  I  about  to  say ! — You  may  remember, 
my  love,  how  good  she  was,  and  how  charming ;  till  this  vile 
moment,  all  her  care  was  to  make  us  happy.  Had  she  but 
died  ! — But  she  is  gone,  the  honor  of  our  family  contaminated, 
and  I  must  look  out  for  happiness  in  other  worlds  than  here. 
But,  my  child,  you  saw  them  go  off :  perhaps  he  forced  her 
away  ?  If  he  forced  her,  she  may  yet  be  innocent." — "Ah  no, 
sir,"  cried  the  child;  "he  only  kissed  her,  and  called  her  his 
angel,  and  she  wept  very  much,  and  leaned  upon  his  arm,  and 
they  drove  off  very  fast." — "  She's  an  ungrateful  creature," 
cried  my  wife,  who  could  scarcely  speak  for  weeping,  "  to  use 
us  thus.  She  never  had  the  least  constraint  put  upon  her  af- 
fections. The  vile  strumpet  has  basely  deserted  her  parents 
without  any  provocation — thus  to  bring  your  gray  hairs  to  the 
grave,  and  I  must  shortly  follow." 


74  VICAR  OF  WAKEFTELD. 

In  this  manner  that  night,  the  first  of  our  real  misfortunes, 
was  spent  in  the  bitterness  of  complaint,  and  ill-supported  sallies 
of  enthusiasm.  I  determined,  however,  to  find  out  our  betrayer, 
wherever  he  was,  and  reproach  his  baseness.  The  next  morn- 
ing we  missed  our  wretched  child  at  breakfast,  where  she  used 
to  give  life  and  cheerfulness  to  us  all.  My  wife,  as  before,  at- 
tempted to  ease  her  heart  by  reproaches.  "  Never,"  cried  she, 
"  shall  that  vilest  stain  of  our  family  again  darken  these  harm- 
less doors.  I  will  never  call  her  daughter  more.  No,  let  the 
strumpet  live  with  her  vile  seducer :  she  may  bring  us  to  shame, 
but  she  shall  never  more  deceive  us." 

"  Wife,"  said  I,  "  do  not  talk  thus  hardly  :  my  detestation 
of  her  guilt  is  as  great  as  yours ;  but  ever  shall  this  house  and 
this  heart  be  open  to  a  poor  returning  repentant  sinner.  The 
sooner  she  returns  from  her  transgressions,  the  more  welcome 
shall  she  be  to  me.  For  the  first  time  the  very  best  may  err  ; 
art  may  persuade,  and  novelty  spread  out  its  charms.  The  first 
fault  is  the  child  of  simplicity,  but  every  other  the  offspring  of 
guilt.  Yes,  the  wretched  creature  shall  be  welcome  to  this  heart 
and  this  house,  though  stained  with  ten  thousand  vices.  I  will 
again  hearken  to  the  music  of  her  voice,  again  will  I  hang  fondly 
on  her  bosom,  if  I  find  but  repentance  there.  My  son,  bring 
hither  my  Bible  and  my  staff :  I  will  pursue  her,  wherever  she 
is  ;  and  though  I  cannot  save  her  from  shame,  I  may  prevent 
the  continuance  of  iniquity." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

The  Pursuit  of  a  Father  to  reclaim  a  lost  Child  to  Virtue 

THOUGH  the  child  could  not  describe  the  gentleman's  person 
who  handed  his  sister  into  the  postchaise,  yet  my  suspicions 
fell  entirely  upon  our  young  landlord,  whose  character  for  such 
intrigues  was  but  too  well  known.  I  therefore  directed  my 
steps  towards  Thornhill  Castle,  resolving  to  upbraid  him,  and, 
if  possible,  to  bring  back  my  daughter  :  but  before  I  had  reached 
his  seat,  I  was  met  by  one  of  my  parishioners,  who  said  he  saw 
a  young  lady,  resembling  my  daughter,  in  a  postchaise  with  a 
gentleman,  whom  by  the  description,  I  could  only  guess  to  be 
Mr.  Burchell,  and  that  they  drove  very  fast.  This  information, 


VTCAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  75 

however,  did  by  no  means  satisfy  me.  I  therefore  went  to  the 
young  'Squire's  and  though  it  was  yet  early,  insisted  upon  see- 
ing him  immediately.  He  soon  appeared  with  the  most  open, 
familiar  air,  and  seemed  perfectly  amazed  at  my  daughter's 
elopement,  protesting  upon  his  honor  that  he  was  quite  a 
stranger  to  it.  I  now  therefore  condemned  my  former  suspi- 
cions, and  could  turn  them  only  on  Mr.  Burchell,  who  I  recol- 
lected had  of  late  several  private  conferences  with  her :  but 
the  appearance  of  another  witness  left  me  no  room  to  doubt 
his  villany,  who  averred,  that  he  and  my  daughter  were  actually 
gone  towards  the  Wells,  about  thirty  miles  off,  where  there  was 
a  great  deal  of  company.  Being  driven  to  that  state  of  mind 
in  which  we  are  more  ready  to  act  precipitately  than  to  reason 
right,  I  never  debated  with  myself,  whether  these  accounts 
might  not  have  been  given  by  persons  purposely  placed  in  my 
way  to  mislead  me,  but  resolved  to  pursue  my  daughter  and  her 
fancied  deluder  thither.  I  walked  along  with  earnestness,  and 
inquired  of  several  by  the  way ;  but  received  no  accounts,  till, 
entering  the  town,  I  was  met  by  a  person  on  horseback,  whom 
I  remembered  to  have  seen  at  the  'Squire's,  and  he  assured  me, 
that  if  I  followed  them  to  the  races,  which  were  but  thirty  miles 
farther,  I  might  depend  upon  overtaking  them  ;  for  he  had 
seen  them  dance  there  the  night  before,  and  the  whole  assem- 
bly seemed  charmed  with  my  daughter's  performance.  Early 
the  next  day,  I  walked  forward  to  the  races,  and  about  four  in 
the  afternoon  I  came  upon  the  course.  The  company  made  a 
very  brilliant  appearance,  all  earnestly  employed  in  one  pursuit, 
that  of  pleasure  :  how  different  from  mine,  that  of  reclaiming  a 
lost  child  to  virtue  !  I  thought  I  perceived  Mr.  Burchell  at 
some  distance  from  me  ;  but  as  if  he  dreaded  an  interview,  upon 
my  approaching  him,  he  mixed  among  a  crowd,  and  I  saw  him 
no  more.  I  now  reflected  that  it  would  be  to  no  purpose  to 
continue  my  pursuit  farther,  and  resolved  to  return  home  to  an 
innocent  family,  who  wanted  my  assistance.  But  the  agitations 
of  my  mind,  and  the  fatigues  I  had  undergone,  threw  me  into  a 
fever,  the  symptoms  of  which  I  perceived  before  I  came  off  the 
course.  This  was  another  unexpected  stroke,  as  I  was  more 
than  seventy  miles  distant  from  home  :  however,  I  retired  to  a 
little  alehouse  by  the  roadside,  and  in  this  place,  the  usual  re- 
treat of  indigence  and  frugality,  I  laid  me  down  patiently  to 
wait  the  issue  of  my  disorder.  I  languished  here  for  nearly 
three  weeks  ;  but  at  last  my  constitution  prevailed,  though  I 
was  unprovided  with  money  to  defray  the  expenses  of  my  enter- 
tainment. It  is  possible  the  anxiety  from  this  last  circumstance 


76  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

alone  might  have  brought  on  a  relapse,  had  I  not  been  supplied 
by  a  traveller,  who  stopped  to  take  a  cursory  refreshment. 
This  person  was  no  other  than  the  philanthropic  bookseller  in 
St.  Paul's  Church  Yard,  who  has  written  so  many  little  books 
for  children ;  he  called  himself  their  friend  ;  but  he  was  the 
friend  of  all  mankind.  He  was  no  sooner  alighted,  but  he  was 
in  haste  to  be  gone  ;  for  he  was  ever  on  business  of  the  utmost 
importance,  and  was  at  that  time  actually  compiling  materials 
for  the  history  of  one  Mr.  Thomas  Tripp.  I  immediately  recol- 
lected this  good-natured  man's  red  pimpled  face  ;  for  he  had 
published  for  me  against  the  Deuterogamists  of  the  age,  and 
from  him  I  borrowed  a  few  pieces  to  be  paid  at  my  return. 
Leaving  the  inn,  therefore,  as  I  was  yet  but  weak,  I  resolved 
to  return  home  by  easy  journeys  of  ten  miles  a  day.  My  health 
and  usual  tranquillity  were  almost  restored,  and  I  now  con- 
demned that  pride  which  had  made  me  refractory  to  the  hand 
of  correction.  Man  little  knows  what  calamities  are  beyond 
his  patience  to  bear,  till  he  tries  them  :  as  in  ascending  the 
heights  of  ambition,  which  look  bright  from  below,  every  step 
we  rise  shows  us  _some  new  and  gloomy  prospect  of  hidden  dis- 
appointment ;  so  in  our  descent  from  the  summits  of  pleasure, 
though  the  vale  of  misery  below  may  appear  at  first  dark  and 
gloomy,  yet  the  busy  mind,  still  attentive  to  its  own  amusement, 
finds,  as  we  descend,  something  to  flatter  and  to  please.  Still, 
as  we  approach,  the  darkest  objects  appear  to  brighten,  and  the 
mental  eye  becomes  adapted  to  its  gloomy  situation. 

I  now  proceeded  forward,  and  had  walked  about  two  hours, 
when  I  perceived  what  appeared  at  a  distance  like  a  wagon, 
which  I  was  resolved  to  overtake  ;  but  when  I  came  up  with  it, 
found  it  to  be  a  strolling  company's  cart,  that  was  carrying 
their  scenes  and  other  theatrical  furniture  to  the  next  village, 
where  they  were  to  exhibit.  The  cart  was  attended  only  by 
the  person  who  drove  it,  and  one  of  the  company,  as  the  rest 
of  the  players  were  to  follow  the  ensuing  day.  "  Good  com- 
pany upon  the  road,"  says  the  proverb,  "  is  the  shortest  cut." 
I  therefore  entered  into  conversation  with  the  poor  player  ;  and 
as  I  once  had  some  theatrical  powers  myself,  I  disserted  upon 
such  topics  with  my  usual  freedom  :  but  as  I  was  pretty  much 
unacquainted  with  the  present  state  of  the  stage,  I  demanded 
who  were  the  present  theatrical  writers  in  vogue,  who  the 
Drydens  and  Otways  of  the  day  ? — "  I  fancy,  sir,"  cried  the 
player,  "  few  of  our  modern  dramatists  would  think  themselves 
much  honored  by  being  compared  to  the  writers  you  mention. 
Dryden's  and  Rowe's  manner,  sir,  are  quite  out  of  fashion ; 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


77 


our  taste  has  gone  back  a  whole  century ;  Fletcher,  Ben 
Jonson,  and  all  the  plays  of  Shakspeare,  are  the  only  things 
that  go  down." — "  How,"  cried  I,  "  is  it  possible  the  present 
age  can  be  pleased  with  that  antiquated  dialect,  that  obsolete 
humor,  those  over-charged  characters,  which  abound  in  the 
works  you  mention  ?  " — "  Sir,"  returned  my  companion,  "  the 
public  think  nothing  about  dialect,  or  humor,  or  character,  for 
that  is  none  of  their  business  ;  they  only  go  to  be  amused,  and 
find  themselves  happy  when  they  can  enjoy  a  pantomime, 
under  the  sanction  of  Jonson's  or  Shakspeare's  name." — "  So 
then,  I  suppose,"  cried  I,  "  that  our  modern  dramatists  are 
rather  imitators  of  Shakspeare  than  of  nature." — "  To  say  the 
truth,"  return  my  companion,  "  I  don't  know  that  they  imitate 
anything  at  all ;  nor  indeed  does  the  public  require  it  of  them  : 
it  is  not  the  composition  of  the  piece,  but  the  number  of  starts 
and  attitudes  that  may  be  introduced  into  it,  that  elicits  ap- 
plause. I  have  known  a  piece  with  not  one  jest  in  the  whole, 
shrugged  into  popularity,  and  another  saved  by  the  poet's 
throwing  in  a  fit  of  the  gripes.  No,  sir,  the  works  of  Congreve 
and  Farquhar  have  too  much  wit  in  them  for  the  present  taste  : 
our  modern  dialect  is  much  more  natural." 

By  this  time  the  equipage  of  the  strolling  company  was 
arrived  at  the  village,  which,  it  seems,  had  been  apprised  of 
our  approach,  and  was  come  out  to  gaze  at  us  ;  for  my  com- 
panion observed,  that  strollers  always  have  more  spectators 
without  doors  than  within.  I  did  not  consider  the  impropriety 
of  my  being  in  such  company,  till  I  saw  a  mob  gather  about 
me.  I  therefore  took  shelter,  as  fast  as  possible,  in  the  first 
alehouse  that  offered,  and  being  shown  into  the  common 
room,  was  accosted  by  a  very  well  dressed  gentleman,  who 
demanded  whether  I  was  the  real  chaplain  of  the  company,  or 
whether  it  was  only  to  be  my  masquerade  character  in  the  play. 
Upon  my  informing  him  of  the  truth,  and  that  I  did  not  belong 
in  any  sort  to  the  company,  he  was  condescending  enough  to 
desire  me  and  the  player  to  partake  in  a  bowl  of  punch,  over 
which  he  discussed  modern  politics  with  great  earnestness  and 
interest.  I  set  him  down  in  my  own  mind  for  nothing  less  than 
a  parliament-man  at  least ;  but  was  almost  confirmed  in  my 
conjectures,  when  upon  asking  what  there  was  in  the  house  for 
supper,  he  insisted  that  the  player  and  I  should  sup  with  him 
at  his  house  :  with  which  request,  after  some  entreaties,  we 
were  prevailed  on  to  comply. 


78  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

The  description  of  a  Person  discontented  with  the  present  Government  and  apprehen- 
sive of  the  loss  of  our  Liberties. 

THE  house  where  we  were  to  be  entertained  lying  at  a  small 
distance  from  the  village,  our  inviter  observed,  that  as  the 
coach  was  not  ready,  he  would  conduct  us  on  foot ;  and  we 
soon  arrived  at  one  of  the  most  magnificent  mansions  I  had 
seen  in  that  part  of  the  country.  The  apartment  into  which 
we  were  shown  was  perfectly  elegant  and  modern  ;  he  went  to 
give  orders  for  supper,  while  the  player,  with  a  wink,  observed 
that  we  were  perfectly  in  luck.  Our  entertainer  soon  returned  ; 
an  elegant  supper  was  brought  in,  two  or  three  ladies  in  dis- 
habile  were  introduced,  and  the  conversation  began  with  some 
sprightliness.  Politics,  however,  was  the  object  on  which  our 
entertainer  chiefly  expatiated  ;  for  he  asserted  that  liberty  was 
at  once  his  boast  and  his  terror.  After  the  cloth  was  removed, 
he  asked  me  if  I  had  seen  the,  last  Monitor  ?  to  which  replying 
in  the  negative,  "  What,  nor  the  Auditor,  I  suppose  ?  "  cried  he. 
"  Neither,  sir,"  returned  I.  "  That's  strange,  very  strange," 
replied  my  entertainer.  "  Now  I  read  all  the  politics  that  come 
out.  The  Daily,  the  Public,  the  Ledger,  the  Chronicle,  the 
London  Evening,  the  Whitehall  Evening,  the  seventeen  Maga- 
zines and  the  two  Reviews  ;  and  though  they  hate  each  other, 
I  love  them  all.  Liberty,  sir,  liberty,  is  the  Briton's  boast, 
and  by  all  my  coal-mines  in  Cornwall,  I  reverence  its  guardians." 
— "  Then  it  is  to  be  hoped,"  cried  I,  "  you  reverence  the  king." 
— "  Yes,"  returned  my  entertainer,  "  when  he  does  what  we 
would  have  him  ;  but  if  he  goes  on  as  he  has  done  of  late,  I'll 
never  trouble  myself  more  with  his  matters.  I  say  nothing.  I 
think,  only,  I  could  have  directed  some  things  better.  I  don't 
think  there  has  been  a  sufficient  number  of  advisers  :  he  should 
advise  with  every  person  willing  to  give  him  advice,  and  then 
we  should  have  things  done  in  another  guess  manner." 

"  I  wish,"  cried  I,  "  that  such  intruding  advisers  were  fixed 
in  the  pillory.  It  should  be  the  duty  of  honest  men  to  assist 
the  weaker  side  of  our  constitution,  that  sacred  power  which 
has  for  some  years  been  every  day  declining,  and  losing  its 
due  share  of  influence  in  the  state.  But  these  ignorants  still 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  79 

continue  the  same  cry  of  liberty ;  and  if  they  have  any  weight, 
basely  throw  it  into  the  subsiding  scale." 

"How,"  cried  one  of  the  ladies,  "do  I  live  to  see  one  so 
base,  so  sordid,  as  to  be  an  enemy  to  liberty,  and  a  defender  of 
tyrants  ?  Liberty,  that  sacred  gift  of  Heaven,  that  glorious 
privilege  of  Britons  ? " 

"Can  it  be  possible,"  cried  our  entertainer,  "that  there 
should  be  any  found  at  present  advocates  for  slavery  ?  Any 
who  are  for  meanly  giving  up  the  privilege  of  Britons  ?  Can 
any,  sir,  be  so  abject  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  I,  "  I  am  for  liberty,  that  attribute  of 
God !  Glorious  liberty !  that  theme  of  modern  declamation. 
I  would  have  all  men  kings.  I  would  be  a  king  myself.  We 
have  all  naturally  an  equal  right  to  the  throne  :  we  are  all 
originally  equal.  This  is  my  opinion,  and  was  once  the  opinion 
of  a  set  of  honest  men  who  were  called  Levellers.  They  tried 
to  erect  themselves  into  a  community  where  all  would  be 
equally  free.  But,  alas  !  it  would  never  answer ;  for  there 
were  some  among  them  stronger,  and  some  more  cunning  than 
others,  and  these  became  masters  of  the  rest ;  for  as  sure  as 
your  groom  rides  your  horses,  because  he  is  a  cunninger  animal 
than  they,  so  surely  will  the  animal  that  is  cunninger  and 
stronger  than  he,  sit  upon  his  shoulders  in  turn.  Since  then 
it  is  entailed  upon  humanity  to  submit,  and  some  are  born  to 
command,  and  others  to  obey,  the  question  is,  as  there  must 
be  tyrants,  whether  it  is  better  to  have  them  in  the  same  house 
with  us,  or  in  the  same  village,  or  still  farther  off,  in  the  me- 
tropolis. Now,  sir,  for  my  own  part,  as  I  naturally  hate  the 
face  of  a  tyrant,  the  farther  off  he  is  removed  from  me,  the 
better  pleased  am  I.  The  generality  of  mankind  also  are  of 
my  way  of  thinking,  and  have  unanimously  created  one  king, 
whose  election  at  once  diminishes  the  number  of  tyrants,  and 
puts  tyranny  at  the  greatest  distance  from  the  greatest  number 
of  people.  Now  the  great,  who  were  tyrants  themselves  before 
the  election  of  one  tyrant,  are  naturally  averse  to  a  power 
raised  over  them,  and  whose  weight  must  ever  lean  heaviest  on 
the  subordinate  orders.  It  is  the  interest  of  the  great,  there- 
fore, to  diminish  kingly  power  as  much  as  possible  ;  because 
whatever  they  take  from  that,  is  naturally  restored  to  them- 
selves ;  and  all  they  have  to  do  in  the  state,  is  to  undermine 
the  single  tyrant,  by  which  they  resume  their  primeval  authority. 
Now  the  state  may  be  so  circumstanced,  or  its  laws  may  be  so 
disposed,  or  its  men  of  opulence  so  minded,  as  all  to  conspire 
in  carrying  on  this  business  of  undermining  monarchy.  For  in 


g0  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

the  first  place,  if  the  circumstances  of  our  state  be  such  as  to 
favor  the  accumulation  of  wealth,  and  make  the  opulent  still 
more  rich,  this  will  increase  their  ambition.  An  accumulation 
of  wealth,  however,  must  necessarily  be  the  consequence,  when 
as  at  present  more  riches  flow  in  from  external  commerce,  than 
arise  from  internal  industry  j  for  external  commerce  can  only 
be  managed  to  advantage  by  the  rich,  and  they  have  also  at 
the  same  time  all  the  emoluments  arising  from  internal  industry; 
so  that  the  rich,  with  us,  have  two  sources  of  wealth,  whereas 
the  poor  have  but  one.  For  this  reason,  wealth,  in  all  com- 
mercial states,  is  found  to  accumulate,  and  all  such  have  hitherto 
in  time  become  aristocratical.  Again,  the  very  laws  also  of 
this  country  may  contribute  to  the  accumulation  of  wealth ;  as 
when,  by  their  means,  the  natural  ties  that  bind  the  rich  and 
poor  together  are  broken,  and  it  is  ordained,  that  the  rich  shall 
only  marry  with  the  rich  ;  or  when  the  learned  are  held  un- 
qualified to  serve  their  country  as  counsellors,  merely  from  a 
defect  of  opulence,  and  wealth  is  thus  made  the  object  of  a 
wise  man's  ambition ;  by  these  means,  I  say,  and  such  means 
as  these,  riches  will  accumulate.  Now,  the  possessor  of  ac- 
cumulated wealth,  when  furnished  with  the  necessaries  and 
pleasures  of  life,  has  no  other  method  to  employ  the  superfluity 
of  his  fortune  but  in  purchasing  power.  That  is,  differently 
speaking,  in  making  dependents,  by  purchasing  the  liberty  of 
the  needy  or  the  venal,  of  men  who  are  willing  to  bear  the 
mortification  of  contiguous  tyranny  for  bread.  Thus  each 
very  opulent  man  generally  gathers  round  him  a  circle  of  the 
poorest  of  the  people  ;  and  the  polity  abounding  in  accumulated 
wealth,  may  be  compared  to  a  Cartesian  system,  each  orb  with 
a  vortex  of  its  own.  Tho.se/  however,  who  are  willing  to  move 
in  a  great  man's  vortex,  are  only  such  as  must  be  slaves,  the 
rabble  of  mankind,  whose  souls  and  whose  education  are 
adapted  to  servitude,  and  who  know  nothing  of  liberty  except 
the  name.  But  there  must  still  be  a  large  number  of  the  people 
without  the  sphere  of  the  opulent  man's  influence,  namely,  that 
order  of  men  which  subsists  between  the  very  rich  and  the 
very  rabble  ;  those  men  who  are  possessed  of*  too  large  for- 
tunes to  submit  to  the  neighboring  man  in  power,  and  yet  are 
too  poor  to  set  up  for  tyranny  themselves.  In  this  middle 
order  of  mankind  are  generally  to  be  found  all  the  arts,  wis- 
dom, and  virtues  of  society.  This  order  alone  is  known  to  be 
the  true  preserver  of  freedom,  and  may  be  called  the  people. 
Now  it  may  happen  that  this  middle  order  of  mankind  may 
lose  all  its  influence  in  a  state,  and  its  voice  be  in  a  manner 


VTCAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  Si 

drowned  in  that  of  the  rabble  :  for  if  the  fortune  sufficient  for 
qualifying  a  person  at  present  to  give  his  voice  in  state  affairs 
be  ten  times  less  than  was  judged  sufficient  upon  forming  the 
constitution,  it  is  evident  that  greater  numbers  of  the  rabble 
will  be  thus  introduced  into  the  political  system,  and  they  ever 
moving  in  the  vortex  of  the  great,  will  follow  where  greatness 
shall  direct.  In  such  a  state,  therefore,  all  that  the  middle 
order  has  left,  is  to  preserve  the  prerogatives  and  privileges  of 
the  one  principal  governor  with  the  most  sacred  circumspection. 
For  he  divides  the  power  of  the  rich,  and  calls  off  the  great 
from  falling  with  tenfold  weight  on  the  middle  order  placed 
beneath  them.  The  middle  order  may  be  compared  to  a  town, 
of  which  the  opulent  are  forming  the  siege,  and  of  which  the 
governor  from  without  is  hastening  the  relief.  While  the  be- 
siegers are  in  dread  of  an  enemy  over  them,  it  is  but  natural 
to  offer  the  townsmen  the  most  specious  terms ;  to  flatter  them 
with  sounds,  and  amuse  them  with  privileges ;  but  if  they  once 
defeat  the  governor  from  behind,  the  walls  of  the  town  will  be 
but  a  small  defence  to  its  inhabitants.  What  they  may  then 
expect,  may  be  seen  by  turning  our  eyes  to  Holland,  Genoa, 
or  Venice,  where  the  laws  govern  the  poor,  and  the  rich  govern 
the  law.  I  am  then  for,  and  would  die  for  monarchy,  sacred 
monarchy ;  for  if  there  be  anything  sacred  amongst  men,  it 
must  be  the  anointed  SOVEREIGN  of  his  people  ;  and  every 
diminution  of  his  power  in  war,  or  in  peace,  is  an  infringement 
upon  the  real  liberties  of  the  subject.  The  sons  of  liberty, 
patriotism,  and  Britons,  have  already  done  much;  it  is  to  be 
hoped  that  the  true  sons  of  freedom  will  prevent  their  ever 
doing  more.  I  have  known  many  of  these  pretended  cham- 
pions for  liberty  in  my  time,  yet  do  I  not  remember  one  tnat 
was  not  in  his  heart  and  in  his  family  a  tyrant." 

My  warmth  I  found  had  lengthened  this  harangue  beyond 
the  rules  of  good  breeding  ;  but  the  impatience  of  my  enter- 
tainer, who  often  strove  to  interrupt  it,  could  be  restrained  no 
longer.  "What,"  cried  he,  "then  I  have  been  all  this  while 
entertaining  a  Jesuit  in  parson's  clothes !  but  by  all  the  coal- 
mines of  Cornwall,  out  he  shall  pack,  if  my  name  be  Wilkin- 
son." I  now  found  I  had  gone  too  far,  and  asked  pardon  for 
the  warmth  with  which  I  had  spoken.  "  Pardon  !  "  returned 
he,  in  a  fury :  "  I  think  such  principles  demand  ten  thousand 
pardons.  What  ?  give  up  liberty,  property,  and,  the  Gazetteer 
says,  lie  down  to  be  saddled  with  wooden  shoes  !  sir,  I  insist 
upon  your  marching  out  of  this  house  immediately,  to  prevent 
worse  consequences  :  sir,  I  insist  upon  it."  I  was  going  to  re- 

6 


82  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

peat  my  remonstrance  ;  but  just  then  we  heard  a  footman's  rap 
at  the  cluor,  and  the  two  ladies  cried  out,  "  As  sure  as  death 
there  is  our  master  and  mistress  come  home."  It  seems  my  en- 
tertainer was  all  this  while  only  the  butler,  who,  in  his  master's 
absence,  had  a  mind  to  cut  a  figure,  and  be  for  a  while  the 
gentleman  himself :  and  to  say  the  truth,  he  talked  politics  as 
well  as  most  country  gentlemen  do.  But  nothing  could  now 
exceed  my  confusion  upon  seeing  the  gentleman  and  his  lady 
enter ;  nor  was  their  surprise  at  finding  such  company  and 
good  cheer  less  than  ours.  "  Gentlemen,"  cried  the  real  mas- 
ter  of  the  house  to  me  and  my  companion,  "  my  wife  and  I  are 
your  most  humble  servants  ;  but  I  protest  this  is  so  unexpected 
a  favor,  that  we  almost  sink  under  the  obligation."  However 
unexpected  our  company  might  be  to  them,  theirs,  I  am  sure, 
was  still  more  so  to  us,  and  I  was  struck  dumb  with  the  appre- 
hensions of  my  own  absurdity,  when  whom  should  I  next  see 
enter  the  room  but  my  dear  Miss  Arabella  Wilmot,  who  was 
formerly  designed  to  be  married  to  my  son  George,  but  whose 
match  was  broken  off  as  already  related.  As  soon  as  she  saw 
me,  she  flew  to  my  arms  with  the  utmost  joy. — "  My  dear  sir," 
cried  she,  "  to  what  happy  accident  is  it  that  we  owe  so  unex- 
pected a  visit  ?  I  am  sure  my  uncle  and  aunt  will  be  in  rap- 
tures when  they  find  they  have  the  good  Dr.  Primrose  for  thtir 
guest."  Upon  hearing  my  name,  the  old  gentleman  and  lady 
very  politely  stepped  up,  and  welcomed  me  with  the  most  cor- 
dial hospitality.  Nor  could  they  forbear  smiling,  upon  being 
informed  of  the  nature  of  my  present  visit ;  but  the  unfortunate 
butler,  whom  they  at  first  seemed  disposed  to  turn  away,  was  at 
my  intercession  forgiven. 

Mr.  Arnold  and  his  lady,  to  whom  the  house  belonged,  now 
insisted  upon  having  the  pleasure  of  my  stay  for  some  days  ; 
and  as  their  niece,  my  charming  pupil,  whose  mind  in  some 
measure  had  been  formed  under  my  own  instructions,  joined  in 
their  entreaties,  I  complied.  That  night  I  was  shown  to  a 
magnificent  chamber,  and  the  next  morning  early  Miss  Wilmot 
desired  to  walk  with  me  in  the  garden,  which  was  decorated  in 
the  modern  manner.  After  some  time  spent  in  pointing  out 
the  beauties  of  the  place,  she  inquired  with  seeming  unconcern, 
when  last  I  was  heard  from  my  son  George  ?  "  Alas,  madam," 
cried  I,  "  he  has  now  been  nearly  three  years  absent,  without 
ever  writing  to  his  friends  or  me.  Where  he  is  I  know  not ; 
perhaps  I  shall  never  see  him  or  happiness  more.  No,  my  dear 
madam,  we  shall  never  more  see  such  pleasing  hours  as  were 
once  spent  by  our  fireside  at  Wakefield.  My  little  family  are 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD  83 

now  dispersing  very  fast,  and  poverty  has -brought  not  only 
want  but  infamy  upon  us."  The  good-natured  girl  let  fall  a 
tear  at  this  account ;  but  as  I  saw  her  possessed  of  too  much 
sensibility,  I  forbore  a  more  minute  detail  of  our  sufferings.  It 
was,  however,  some  consolation  to  me  to  find  that  time  had 
made  no  alteration  in  her  affections,  and  that  she  had  rejected 
several  offers  that  had  been  made  her  since  our  leaving  her 
part  of  the  country.  She  led  me  round  all  the  extensive  im- 
provemeffts  of  the  place,  pointing  to  the  several  walks  and 
arbors,  and  at  the  same  time  catching  from  every  object  a  hint 
for  some  new  questions  relative  to  my  son.  In  this  manner 
we  spent  the  forenoon,  till  the  bell  summoned  us  in  to  dinner, 
where  we  found  the  manager  of  the  strolling  company  that  I 
mentioned  before,  who  was  come  to  dispose  of  tickets  for  the 
Fair  Penitent,  which  was  to  be  acted  that  evening,  the  part  of 
Horatio,  by  a  young  gentleman  who  had  never  appeared  on  any 
stage.  He  seemed  to  be  very  warm  in  the  praises  of  the  new 
performer,  and  averred  that  he  never  saw  any  who  bid  so  fair 
for  excellence.  Acting,  he  observed,  was  not  learned  in  a  day  ; 
"  but  this  gentleman,"  continued  he,  "  seems  born  to  tread  the 
stage.  His  voice,  his  figure,  and  attitudes,  are  all  admirable. 
We  caught  him  up  accidentally  in  our  journey  down."  This 
account,  in  some  measure,  excited  our  curiosity,  and,  at  the  en- 
treaty of  the  ladies,  I  was  prevailed  upon  to  accompany  them 
to  the  playhouse,  which  was  no  other  than  a  barn.  As  the 
company  with  which  I  went  was  incontestably  the  chief  of  the 
place,  we  were  received  with  the  greatest  respect,  and  placed 
in  the  front  seat  of  the  theatre  ;  where  we  sat  for  some  time 
with  no  small  impatience  to  see  Horatio  make  his  appearance. 
The  new  performer  advanced  at  last ;  and  let  parents  think  of 
my  sensations  by  their  own,  when  I  found  it  was  my  unfor- 
tunate son.  He  was  going  to  begin,  when  turning  his  eyes 
upon  the  audience,  he  perceived  Miss  Wilmot  and  me,  and 
stood  at  once  speechless  and  immovable.  The  actors  behind 
the  scene,  who  ascribed  this  cause  to  his  natural  timidity,  at- 
tempted to  encourage  him  ;  but  instead  of  going  on  he  burst  in 
a  flood  of  tears,  and  retired  off  the  stage,  I  don't  know  what, 
were  my  feelings  on  this  occasion,  for  they  succeeded  with  too 
much  rapidity  for  description  ;  but  I  was  soon  awaked  from 
this  disagreeable  reverie  by  Miss  Wilmot,  who,  pale,  and  with 
a  trembling  voice,  desired  me  to  conduct  her  back  to  her 
uncle's.  When  got  home,  Mr,  Arnold,  who  was  as  yet  a  stran- 
ger to  our  extraordinary  behavior,  being  informed  that  the 
new  performer  was  my  son,  sent  his  coach  and  an  invitation  for 


84  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

him  :  and  as  he  persisted  in  his  refusal  to  appear  again  upon 
the  stage,  the  players  put  another  in  his  place,  and  we  soon  had 
him  with  us.  Mr.  Arnold  gave  him  the  kindest  reception,  and 
I  received  him  with  my  usual  transport ;  for  I  could  never 
counterfeit  false  resentment.  Miss  Wilmot's  reception  was 
mixed  with  seeming  neglect,  and  yet  I  could  perceive  she  acted 
a  studied  part.  The  tumult  in  her  mind  seemed  not  yet  abated  : 
she  said  twenty  giddy  things  that  looked  like  joy,  and  then 
laughed  loud  at  her  own  want  of  meaning.  At  intervals  she 
would  take  a  sly  peep  at  the  glass,  as  if  happy  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  irresistible  beauty,  and  often  would  ask  questions 
without  giving  any  manner  of  attention  to  the  answers. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

The  History  of  a  Philosophic  Vagabond,  pursuing  Novelty,  but  losing  Contentment 

AFTER  we  had  supped,  Mrs.  Arnold  politely  offered  to  send 
a  couple  of  her  footmen  for  my  son's  baggage,  which  he  at 
first  seemed  to  decline  ;  but  upon  her  pressing  the  request,  he 
was  obliged  to  inform  her,  that  a  stick  and  a  wallet  were  all  the 
movable  things  upon  this  earth  that  he  could  boast  of.  "Why, 
ay,  my  son,"  cried  I,  "  you  left  me  but  poor,  and  poor  I  find 
you  are  come  back ;  and  yet  I  make  no  doubt  you  have  seen  a 
great  deal  of  the  world." — "  Yes,  sir,"  replied  my  son,  "but 
travelling  after  fortune  is  not  the  way  to  secure  her  ;  and, 
indeed,  of  late  I  have  desisted  from  the  pursuit." — "  I  fancy, 
sir,"  cried  Mrs.  Arnold,  "that  the  account  of  your  adventures 
would  be  amusing  :  the  first  part  of  them  I  have  often  heard 
from  my  niece,  but  could  the  company  prevail  for  the  rest,  it 
would  be  an  additional  obligation." — "  Madam,"  replied  my  son, 
"  I  promise  you  the  pleasure  you  have  in  hearing  will  not  be 
half  so  great  as  my  vanity  in  repeating  them  ;  and  yet  in  the 
whole  narrative  I  can  scarcely  promise  you  one  adventure,  as 
my  account  is  rather  of  what  I  saw  than  what  I  did.  The  first 
misfortune  of  my  life,  which  you  all  know,  was  great ;  but 
though  it  distressed,  it  could  not  sink  me.  No  person  ever 
had  a  better  knack  of  hoping  than  I.  The  less  kind  I  found 
Fortune  at  one  time,  the  more  I  expected  from  her  another, 
and  being  now  at  the  bottom  of  her  wheel,  every  new  revolu* 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  85 

tion  might  lift,  but  could  not  depress  me.  I  proceeded,  there- 
fore, towards  London,  in  a  fine  morning,  no  way  uneasy  about 
to-morrow,  but  cheerful  as  the  birds  that  caroled  by  the  road, 
and  comforted  myself  with  reflecting,  that  London  was  the 
mart  where  abilities  of  every  kind  were  sure  of  meeting  distinc- 
tion and  reward. 

"  Upon  my  arrival  in  town,  sir,  my  first  care  was  to  deliver 
your  letter  of  recommendation  to  our  cousin,  who  was  himself 
in  little  better  circumstances  than  I.  My  first  scheme,  you 
know,  sir,  was  to  be  usher  at  an  academy,  and  I  asked  his  ad- 
vice on  the  affair.  Our  cousin  received  the  proposal  with  a 
true  Sardonic  grin.  Ay,  cried  he,  this  is  indeed  a  very  pretty 
career  that  has  been  chalked  out  for  you.  I  have  been  an  usher 
at  a  boarding-school  myself  •  and  may  I  die  by  an  anodyne 
necklace,  but  I  had  rather  be  an  under  turnkey  in  Newgate.  I 
was  up  early  and  late  :  I  was  browbeat  by  the  master,  hated 
for  my  ugly  face  by  the  mistress,  worried  by  the  boys  within, 
and  never  permitted  to  stir  out  to  meet  civility  abroad.  But 
are  you  sure  you  are  fit  for  a  school  ?  Let  me  examine  you  a 
little.  Have  you  been  bred  apprentice  to  the  business  ?  No. 
Then  you  won't  do  for  a  school.  Can  you  dress  the  boy's 
hair?  No.  Then  you  won't  do  for  a  school.  Have  you  had 
the  small-pox  ?  No.'  Then  you  won't  do  for  a  school.  Can 
you  lie  three  in  a  bed  ?  No.  Then  you  will  never  do  for  a 
school.  Have  you  got  a  good  stomach  ?  Yes.  Then  you 
will  by  no  means  do  for  a  school.  No,  sir,  if  you  are  for  a  gen- 
teel easy  profession,  bind  yourself  seven  years  as  an  apprentice 
to  turn  a  cutler's  wheel ;  but  avoid  a  school  by  any  means. 
Yet  come,  continued  he,  I  see  you  are  a  lad  of  spirit  and  some 
learning,  what  do  you  think  of  commencing  author,  like  me  ? 
You  have  read  in  books,  no  doubt,  of  men  of  genius  starving  at 
the  trade.  At  present  I'll  show  you  forty  very  dull  fellows 
about  town  that  live  by  it  in  opulence ;  all  honest  jog-trot  men, 
who  go  on  smoothly  and  dully,  and  write  history  and  politics, 
and  are  praised  :  men,  sir,  who,  had  they  been  bred  cobblers, 
would  all  their  lives  have  only  mended  shoes,  but  never  made 
them. 

"  Finding  that  there  was  no  great  degree  of  gentility  affixed 
to  the  character  of  an  usher,  I  resolved  to  accept  his  proposal ; 
and  having  the  highest  respect  for  literature,  hailed  the  antiqua 
mater  of  Grub  Street  with  reverence.  I  thought  it  my  glory  to 
pursue  a  track  which  Dryden  and  Otway  trod  before  me.  I 
considered  the  goddess  of  this  region  as  the  parent  of  excel- 
lence ;  and  however  an  intercourse  with  the  world  might  give 


86  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

us  good  sense,  the  poverty  she  entailed  I  suppose  to  be  the 
nurse  of  genius  !  Big  with  these  reflections,  I  sat  down,  and 
finding  that  the  best  things  remained  to  be  said  on  the  wrong 
side,  I  resolved  to  write  a  book  that  should  be  wholly  new,  I 
therefore  dressed  up  three  paradoxes  with  some  ingenuity. 
They  were  false  indeed,  but  they  were  new.  The  jewels  of 
truth  have  been  so  often  imported  by  others,  that  nothing  was 
left  for  me  to  import  but  some  splendid  things  that  at  a  distance 
looked  every  bit  as  well.  Witness,  you  powers,  what  fancied 
importance  sat  perched  upon  my  quill  while  I  was  writing ! 
The  whole  learned  world,  I  made  no  doubt,  would  rise  to  op- 
pose my  systems  ;  but  then  I  was  prepared  to  oppose  the  whole 
learned  world.  Like  the  porcupine,  I  sat  self-collected,  with  a 
quill  pointed  against  every  opposer." 

"  Well  said,  my  boy,"  cried  I,  "  and  what  subject  did  you 
treat  upon  ?  I  hope  you  did  not  pass  over  the  importance  of 
monogamy.  But  I  interrupt ;  go  on  :  you  published  your 
paradoxes  ;  well,  and  what  did  the  learned  world  say  to  your 
paradoxes  ? " 

"  Sir,"  replied  my  son,  "the  learned  world  said  nothing  to 
my  paradoxes ;  nothing  at  all,  sir.  Every  man  of  them  was 
employed  in  praising  his  friends  and  himself,  or  condemning 
his  enemies :  and  unfortunately,  as  I  had  neither,  I  suffered 
the  crudest  mortification,  neg!ect. 

"As  I  was  meditating  one  day  in  a  coffee-house  on  the  fate 
of  my  paradoxes,  a  little  man  happening  to  enter  the  room, 
placed  himself  in  the  box  before  me,  and  after  some  prelim- 
inary discourse,  finding  me  to  be  a  scholar,  drew  out  a  bundle 
of  proposals,  begging  me  to  subscribe  to  a  new  edition  he  was 
going  to  give  the  world  of  Propertius  with  notes.  This  demand 
necessarily  produced  a  reply  that  I  had  no  money ;  and  that  con- 
cession led  him  to  inquire  into  the  nature  of  my  expectations. 
Finding  that  my  expectations  were  just  as  good  as  my  purse,  I 
see,  cried  he,  you  are  unacquainted  with  the  town  ;  I'll  teach  you 
a  part  of  it.  Look  at  these  proposals, — upon  these  very  pro- 
posals I  have  subsisted  very  comfortably  for  twelve  years.  The 
moment  a  nobleman  returns  from  his  travels,  a  Creolean  arrives 
from  Jamaica,  or  a  dowager  from  her  country  seat,  I  strike  for  a 
subscription.  I  first  besiege  their  hearts  with  flattery,  and  then 
pour  in  my  proposals  at  the  breach.  If  they  subscribe  readily 
the  first  time,  I  renew  my  request  to  "beg  a  dedication  fee.  If 
they  let  me  have  that,  I  smite  them  once  more  for  engraving 
their  coat  of  arms  at  the  top.  Thus,  continued  he,  I  live  by 
vanity,  and  laugh  at  it.  But  between  ourselves,  I  am  now  too 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  87 

well  known  :  I  should  be  glad  to  borrow  your  face  a  bit :  a 
nobleman  of  distinction  has  just  returned  from  Italy  ;  my  face 
is  familiar  to  his  porter ;  but  if  you  bring  this  copy  of  verses, 
my  life  for  it  you  succeed,  and  we  divide  the  spoil." 

"  Bless  us,  George,"  cried  I,  "  and  is  this  the  employment 
of  poets  now  !  Do  men  of  their  exalted  talents  thus  stoop  to 
beggar}- !  Can  they  so  far  disgrace  their  calling  as  to  make  a 
vile  traffic  of  praise  for  bread  ?  " 

"  O  no,  sir,"  returned  he,  "  a  true  poet  can  never  be  so 
base  ;  for  wherever  there  is  genius,  there  is  pride.  The  crea- 
tures I  now  describe  are  only  beggars  in  rhyme.  The  real 
poet,  as  he  braves  every  hardship  for  fame,  so  he  is  equally  a 
coward  to  contempt ;  and  none  but  those  who  are  unworthy 
protection,  condescend  to  solicit  it. 

"  Having  a  mind  too  proud  to  stoop  to  such  indignities,  and 
yet  a  fortune  too  humble  to  hazard  a  second  attempt  for  fame, 
I  was  now  obliged  to  take  a  middle  course,  and  write  for  bread. 
But  I  was  unqualified  for  a  profession  where  mere  industry 
alone  was  to  insure  success.  I  could  not  suppress  my  lurking 
passion  for  applause ;  but  usually  consumed  that  time  in 
efforts  after  excellence  which  takes  up  but  little  room,  when  it 
should  have  been  more  advantageously*  employed  in  the  diffu- 
sive productions  of  fruitful  mediocrity.  My  little  piece  would 
therefore  come  forth  in  the  midst  of  periodical  publications,  un- 
noticed and  unknown.  The  public  were  more  importantly  em- 
ployed than  to  observe  the  easy  simplicity  of  my  style,  or  the 
harmony  of  my  periods.  Sheet  after  sheet  was  thrown  off  to 
oblivion.  My  essays  were  buried  among  the  essays  upon 
liberty,  eastern  tales,  and  cures  for  the  bite  of  a  mad  dog  ;  while 
Philautos,  Philalethes,  Philelutheros,  and  Philanthropos  all 
wrote  better,  because  they  wrote  faster  than  I. 

"  Now,  therefore,  I  began  to  associate  with  none  but  dis- 
appointed authors,  like  myself,  who  praised,  deplored,  and 
despised  each  other.  The  satisfaction  we  found  in  every  cele- 
brated writer's  attempts,  was  inversely  as  their  merits.  I  found 
that  no  genius  in  another  could  please  me.  My  unfortunate 
paradoxes  had  entirely  dried  up  that  source  of  comfort.  I 
could  neither  read  nor  write  with  satisfaction  ;  for  excellence 
in  another  was  my  aversion,  and  writing  was  my  trade. 

"  In  the  midst  of  these  gloomy  reflections,  as  I  was  one  day 
sitting  on  a  bench  in  St.  James's  Park,  a  young  gentleman  of 
distinction,  who  had  been  my  intimate  acquaintance  at  the 
university,  approached  me.  We  saluted  each  other  with  some 
hesitation  :  he  almost  ashamed  of  being  known  to  one  who 


g£  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

made  so  shabby  an  appearance,  and  I  afraid  of  a  repulse. 
But  my  suspicions  soon  vanished ;  for  Ned  Thornhill  was  at 
the  bottom  a  very  good-natured  fellow." 

"  What  did  you  say,  George  ?  "  interrupted  I. — "  Thornhill, 
was  not  that  his  name  ?  It  can  certainly  be  no  other  than  my 
landlord."—"  Bless  me,"  cried  Mrs.  Arnold,  "  is  Mr.  Thornhill 
so  near  a  neighbor  of  yours  ?  He  has  long  been  a  friend  in 
our  family,  and  we  expect  a  visit  from  him  shortly." 

"  My  friend's  first  care,"  continued  my  son,  "  was  to  alter 
my  appearance  by  a  very  fine  suit  of  his  own  clothes,  and  then 
I  was  admitted  to  his  table,  upon  the  footing  of  half-friend, 
half-underling.  My  business  was  to  attend  him  at  auctions,  to 
put  him  in  spirits  when  he  sat  for  his  picture,  to  take  the  left 
hand  in  his  chariot  when  not  filled  by  another,  and  to  assist  at 
tattering  a  kip,  as  the  phrase  was,  when  we  had  a  mind  for  a 
frolic.  Besides  this,  I  had  twenty  other  little  employments  in 
the  family.  I  was  to  do  many  small  things  without  bidding  : 
to  carry  the  corkscrew  ;  to  stand  godfather  to  all  the  butler's 
children  ;  to  sing  when  I  was  bid  ;  to  be  never  out  of  humor  ; 
always  to  be  humble  ;  and,  if  I  could,  to  be  very  happy. 

"  In  this  honorable  post,  however,  I  was  not  without  a  rival. 
A  captain  of  marines,  who  was  formed  for  the  place  by  nature, 
opposed  me  in  my  patron's  affections.  His  mother  had  been 
laundress  to  a  man  of  quality,  and  thus  he  early  acquired  a 
taste  for  pimping  and  pedigree.  As  this  gentleman  made  it 
the  study  of  his  life  to  be  acquainted  with  lords,  though  he 
•was  dismissed  from  several  for  his  stupidity,  yet  he  found 
many  of  them  who  were  as  dull  as  himself,  that  permitted  his 
assiduities.  As  flattery  was  his  trade,  he  practiced  it  with  the 
easiest  address  imaginable  ;  but  it  came  awkward  and  stiff 
from  me  :  and  as  every  day  my'  patron's  desire  for  flattery 
increased,  so  every  hour  being  better  acquainted  with  his  de- 
fects, I  became  more  unwilling  to  give  it.  Thus  I  was  once 
more  fairly  going  to  give  up  the  field  to  the  captain,  when  my 
friend  found  occasion  for  my  assistance.  This  was  nothing 
less  than  to  fight  a  duel  for  him,  with  a  gentleman  whose  sister 
it  was  pretended  he  had  used  ill.  I  readily  complied  with  his 
request,  and  though  I  see  you  are  displeased  with  my  conduct, 
yet  it  was  a  debt  indispensably  due  to  friendship  I  could  not 
refuse.  I  undertook  the  affair,  disarmed  my  antagonist,  and 
soon  after  had  the  pleasure  of  finding  that  the  lady  was  only  a 
woman  of  the  town,  and  the  fellow  her  bully  and  a  sharper,  This 
piece  of  service  was  repaid  with  the  warmest  professions  of 
gratitude  ;  but  as  my  friend  was  \y  Je^Y^  town  in  a  few  days. 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  89 

he  knew  no  other  method  of  serving  me,  but  by  recommending 
me  to  his  uncle  Sir  William  Thornhill,  and  another  nobleman 
of  great  distinction  who  enjoyed  a  post  under  the  government. 
When  he  was  gone,  my  first  care  was  to  carry  his  recommenda- 
tory letter  to  his  uncle,  a  man  whose  character  for  every  virtue 
was  universal,  yet  just.  I  was  received  by  his  servants  with 
the  most  hospitable  smiles  ;  for  the  looks  of  the  domestic  ever 
transmit  their  master's  benevolence.  Being  shown  into  a  grand 
apartment,  where  Sir  William  soon  came  to  me,  I  delivered  my 
message  and  letter,  which  he  read,  and  after  pausing  some 
minutes,  '  Pray,  sir,'  cried  he,  '  inform  me  what  you  have  done 
for  my  kinsman  to  deserve  this  warm  recommendation  :  but  I 
suppose,  sir,  I  guess  your  merits  :  you  have  fought  for  him  ; 
and  so  you  would  expect  a  reward  from  me  for  being  the  in- 
strument of  his  vices.  I  wish,  sincerely  wish,  that  my  present 
refusal  may  be  some  punishment  for  your  guilt,  but  still  more 
that  it  may  be  some  inducement  to  your  repentance.' — The 
severity  of  this  rebuke  I  bore  patiently,  because  I  knew  it  was 
just.  My  whole  expectations  now,  therefore,  lay  in  my  letter 
to  the  great  man.  As  the  doors  of  the  nobility  are  almost 
ever  beset  with  beggars,  all  ready  to  thrust  in  some  sly  peti- 
tion, I  found  it  no  easy  matter  to  gain  admittance.  However, 
after  bribing  the  servants  with  half  my  worldly  fortune,  I  was 
at  last  shown  into  a  spacious  apartment,  my  letter  being  pre- 
viously sent  up  for  his  lordship's  inspection.  During  this 
anxious  interval  I  had  full  time  to  look  around  me.  Every 
thing  was  grand  and  of  happy  contrivance  ;  the  paintings,  the 
furniture,  the  gildings  petrified  me  with  awe,  and  raised  my 
idea  of  the  owner.  Ah,  thought  I  to  myself,  how  very  great 
must  the  possessor  of  these  things  be,  who  carries  in  his  head 
the  business  of  the  state,  and  whose  house  displays  half  the 
wealth  of  a  kingdom  :  sure  his  genius  must  be  unfathomable  ! — 
During  these  awful  reflections,  I  heard  a  step  comfng  heavily 
forward.  Ah,  this  is  the  great  man  himself  !  No,  it  was  only 
a  chamber-maid.  Another  foot  was  heard  soon  after.  This 
must  be  he  !  No,  it  was  only  the  great  man's  -valet  de  chambre, 
At  last  his  lordship  actually  made  his  appearance.  Are  you, 
cried  he,  the  bearer  of  this  here  letter  ?  I  answered  with  a 
bow.  I  learn  by  this,  continued  he,  as  how  that —  But  just  at 
that  instant  a  servant  delivered  him  a  card,  and  without  taking 
further  notice,  he  went  out  of  the  room,  and  left  me  to  digest 
my  own  happiness  at  leisure  :  I  saw  no  more  of  him,  till  told 
by  a  footman  that  his  lordship  was  going  to  his  coach  at  the 
door.  Down  I  immediately  followed  and  joined  my  voice  to 


90  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

that  of  three  or  four  more,  who  came,  like  me,  to  petition  for 
favors.  His  lordship,  however,  went  too  fast  for  us,  and  was 
gaining  his  chariot  door  with  large  strides,  when  I  halloed  out 
to  know  if  I  was  to  have  any  reply.  He  was  by  this  time  got 
in,  and  muttered  an  answer,  half  of  which  only  I  heard,  the  other 
half  was  lost  in  the  rattling  of  his  chariot  wheels.  I  stood  for 
some  time  with  my  neck  stretched  out,  in  the  posture  of  one 
that  was  listening  to  catch  the  glorious  sounds,  till  looking 
round  me,  I  found  myself  alone  at  his  lordship's  gate. 

"  My  patience,"  continued  my  son,  "  was  now  quite  ex- 
hausted :  stung  with  the  thousand  indignities  I  had  met  with,  I 
was  willing  to  cast  myself  away,  and  only  wanted  the  gulf  to 
receive  me.  I  regarded  myself  as  one  of  those  vile  things  that 
nature  designed  should  be  thrown  by  into  her  lumber  room, 
there  to  perish  in  obscurity.  I  had  still,  however,  half  a 
guinea  left,  and  of  that  I  thought  fortune  herself  should  not 
deprive  me  ;  but  in  order  to  be  sure  of  this,  I  was  resolved  to 
go  instantly  and  spend  it  while  I  had  it,  and  then  trust  to 
occurrences  for  the  rest.  As  I  was  going  along  with  this 
resolution  it  happened  that  Mr.  Crispe's  office  seemed  invit- 
ingly open  to  give  me  a  welcome  reception.  In  this  office,  Mr. 
Crispe  kmd'y  offers  all  his  majesty's  subjects  a  generous 
promise  of  3o/.  a  year,  for  which  promise  all  they  give  in  return 
is  their  liberty  for  life,  and  permission  to  let  him  transport 
them  to  America  as  slaves.  I  was  happy  at  finding  a  place 
where  I  could  lose  my  fears  in  desperation,  and  entered  this 
cell  (for  it  had  the  appearance  of  one)  with  the  devotion  of  a 
monastic.  Here  I  found  a  number  of  poor  creatures,  all  in 
circumstances  like  myself,  expecting  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Crispe, 
presenting  a  true  epitome  of  English  impatience.  Each  un- 
tractable  soul  at  variance  with  Fortune,  wreaked  her  injuries  on 
their  own  hearts  :  but  Mr.  Crispe  at  last  came  down,  and  all 
our  murmurs  were  hushed.  He  deigned  to  regard  me  with  an 
air  of  peculiar  approbation,  and  indeed  he  was  the  first  man 
who  for  a  month  past  had  talked  to  me  with  smiles.  After  a 
few  questions,  he  paused  awhile  upon  the  properest  means  of 
providing  for  me,  and  slapping  his  forehead  as  if  he  had  found 
it,  assured  me,  that  there  was  at  that  time  an  embassy  talked 
of  from  the  Synod  of  Pennsylvania  to  the  Chickasaw  Indians, 
and  that  he  would  use  his  interest  to  get  me  made  secretary. 
I  knew  in  my  own  heart  that  the  fellow  lied,  and  yet  his 
promise  gave  me  pleasure,  there  was  something  so  magnificent 
in  the  sound.  I  fairly  therefore  divided  my  half-guinea,  one- 
half  of  which  went  to  be  added  to  his  thirty  pounds,  and  with 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  gi 

the  other  half  I  resolved  to  go  to  the  next  tavern,  to  be  there 
mere  happy  than  he. 

"  As  I  was  going  out  with  that  resolution,  I  was  met  at  the 
(ioor  by  the  captain  of  a  ship,  with  whom  I  had  formerly  some 
little  acquaintance,  and  he  agreed  to  be  my  companion  over  a 
bowl  of  punch.  As  I  never  chose  to  make  a  secret  of  my  cir- 
cumstances, he  assured  me  that  I  was  upon  the  very  point  of 
rub,  in  listening  to  the  office  keeper's  promises  :  for  that  he 
only  designed  to  sell  me  to  tr.e  plantations.  But,  continued 
he,  I  fancy  you  might,  by  a  much  shorter  voyage,  be  very  easily- 
put  into  a  gemeel  way  of  breai.  Take  my  advice.  My  ship 
sails  to  morrow  for  Amsterdam.  What  if  you  go  in  her  as 
passenger  ?  The  mcment  you  land,  al  you  have  to  do  is  to 
teach  the  Dutchmen  English,  ana  I'll  warrant  you'll  get  pupils 
and  money  enough.  I  suppose  you  understand  P^glish,  added 
he,  Ly  this  time,  or  the  deuce  is  in  it.  I  cor.fidently  assured 
hi  n  of  that ;  but  expressed  a  doubt  whether  the  Dutch  would  be 
willing  to  learn  English.  He  affirmed  with  an  oath  that  they 
were  fond  of  it  to  distraction  ;  and  upon  that  affirmation  I 
agreed  with  his  proposal,  and  embarked  the  next  day  to  teach 
the  Dutch  English  in  Holland.  The  wind  was  fair,  our  voyage 
short,  and  after  having  paid  my  passage  with  half  my  mova- 
bles, I  found  myself,  fallen  as  from  the  skies,  a  stranger  in  one 
of  the  principal  streets  of  Amsterdam.  In  this  situation  I  was 
unwilling  to  let  any  time  pass  unemployed  in  teaching.  I  ad- 
dressed myself,  therefore,  to  TWO  or  three  I  met,  whose  appear- 
ance seemed  most  promising  ;  but  it  was  impossible  to  make 
ourselves  mutually  understood.  It  was  net  till  this  very  mo- 
ment I  recollected,  that  in  order  to  teach  the  Dutchmen  Eng- 
lish, it  was  necessary  that  they  should  first  teach  me  Dutch. 
How  I  came  to  overlook  so  obvious  an  objection  is  tome  amaz- 
ing ;  but  certain  it  is  I  overlooked  it. 

"This  scheme,  thus  blown  up,  I  had  some  thoughts  of 
fairly  shipping  back  to  England  again  ;  but  fa. ling  into  com- 
pany with  an  Irish  student  who  was  returning  from  Louvair, 
our  subject  turning  upon  topics  of  literature  (for  by  the  way  it 
may  be  observed,  that  I  always  forgot  the  meanness  of  my  cir- 
cumstances when  I  could  converse  upon  such  subjects,)  from 
him  I  learned  that  there  were  not  two  men  in  his  whole  univer- 
sity who  understood  Greek.  This  amazed  me.  I  instantly  re- 
solved to  travel  to  Louvain,  and  there  live  by  teaching  Greek  ; 
and  in  this  design  I  was  heartened  by  my  brother  student,  who 
threw  out  some  hints  that  a  fortune  might  be  got  by  it. 

"  I  set  boldly  forward  the  next  morning.     Every  day  les- 


9*  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

sened  the  burden  of  my  movables,  like  ^Esop  and  his  basket 
of  bread ;  for  I  paid  therri  for  my  lodgings  to  the  Dutch  as  I 
travelled  on.  When  I  came  to  Louvain,  I  was  resolved  not  to 
go  sneaking  to  the  lower  professors,  but  openly  tendered  my 
talents  to  the  principal  himself.  I  went,  had  admittance,  and 
offered  him  my  service  as  a  master  of  the  Greek  language, 
which  I  had  been  told  was  a  desideratum  in  his  university. 
The  principal  seemed  at  first  to  doubt  my  abilities  ;  but  of 
these  I  offered  to  convince  him  by  turning  a  part  of  any  Greek 
author  he  should  fix  upon  into  Latin.  Finding  me  perfectly 
earnest  in  my  proposal,  he  addressed  me  thus  :  You  see  me, 
young  man  ;  I  never  learned  Greek,  and  I  don't  find  that  I 
have  ever  missed  it,  I  have  had  a  doctor's  cap  and  gown 
without  Greek  ;  I  have  ten  thousand  florins  a  year  without 
Greek  ;  I  eat  heartily  without  Greek  ;  and  in  short,  continued 
he,  as  I  don't  know  Greek,  I  do  not  believe  there  is  any  good 
in  it. 

"  I  was  now  too  far  from  home  to  think  of  returning ;  so  I 
resolved  to  go  forward.  I  had  some  knowledge  of  music,  with 
a  tolerable  voice,  and  now  turned  what  was  my  amusement 
into  a  present  means  of  subsistence.  I  passed  among  the 
harmless  peasants  of  Flanders,  and  among  such  of  the  French 
as  were  poor  enough  to  be  very  merry,  for  I  ever  found  them 
sprightly  in  proportion  to  their  wants.  Whenever  I  approached 
a  peasant's  house  towards  nightfall,  I  played  one  of  my  most 
merry  tunes,  and  that  procured  me  not  only  a  lodging,  but 
subsistence  for  the  next  day.  I  once  or  twice  attempted  to 
play  for  people  of  fashion  ;  but  they  always  thought  my  per- 
formance odious,  and  never  rewarded  me  even  with  a  trifle. 
This  was  to  me  the  more  extraordinary,  as  whenever  I  used  in 
better  days  to  play  for  company,  when  playing  was  my  amuse- 
ment, my  music  never  failed  to  throw  them  into  raptures,  and 
the  ladies  especially  ;  but  as  it  was  now  my  only  means,  it 
was  received  with  contempt — a  proof  how  ready  the  world  is 
to  underrate  those  talents  by  which  a  man  is  supported. 

"  In  this  manner  I  proceeded  to  Paris,  with  no  design  but 
just  to  look  about  me,  and  then  to  go  forward.  The  people 
of  Paris  are  much  fonder  of  strangers  that  have  money  than  of 
those  that  have  wit.  As  I  could  not  boast  much  of  either,  I 
was  no  great  favorite.  After  walking  about  the  town  four  or 
five  days  and  seeing  the  outsides  of  the  best  houses,  I  was 
preparing  to  leave  this  retreat  of  venal  hospitality,  when  passing 
through  one  of  the  principal  streets,  whom  should  I  meet  but 
our  cousin,  to  whom  you  first  recommended  me.  This  meeting 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD,  93 

was  very  agreeable  to  me,  and  I  believe  not  displeasing  to  him. 
He  inquired  into  the  nature  of  my  journey  to  Paris,  and  in- 
formed me  of  his  own  business  there,  which  was  to  collect  pic- 
tures, medals,  intaglios,  and  antiques  of  all  kinds  for  a  gen- 
tleman in  London,  who  had  just  stepped  into  taste  and  a  large 
fortune.  I  was  the  more  surprised  at  seeing  our  cousin  pitched 
upon  for  this  office,  as  he  himself  had  often  assured  me  he  knew 
nothing  of  the  matter.  Upon  asking  how  he  had  been  taught 
the  art  of  a  cognoscente  so  very  suddenly,  he  assured  me  that 
nothing  was  more  easy.  The  whole  secret  consisted  in  a  strict 
adherence  to  two  fliles ;  the  one,  always  to  observe  the  picture 
might  have  been  better  if  the  painter  had  taken  more  pains  ;  and 
the  other,  to  praise  the  works  of  Pietro  Perugino.  But,  says  he, 
as  I  once  taught  you  how  to  be  an  author  in  London,  I'll  now 
undertake  to  instruct  you  in  the  art  of  picture-buying  at  Paris. 

"  With  this  proposal  I  very  readily  closed,  as  it  was  living,  and 
now  all  my  ambition  was  to  live.  I  went  therefore  to  his 
lodgings,  improved  my  dress  by  his  assistance,  and  after  some 
time  accompanied  him  to  auctions  of  pictures,  where  the  English 
gentry  were  expected  to  be  purchasers.  I  was  not  a  little 
surprised  at  his  intimacy  with  people  of  the  best  fashion,  who 
referred  themselves  to  his  judgment  upon  every  picture  or 
medal,  as  to  an  unerring  standard  of  taste.  He  made  very 
good  use  of  my  assistance  upon  these  occasions  ;  for  when  asked 
his  opinion,  he  would  gravely  take  me  aside  and  ask  mine, 
shrug,  look  wise,  return,  and  assure  the  company  that  he  could 
give  no  opinion  upon  an  affair  of  so  much  importance.  Yet 
there  was  sometimes  an  occasion  for  a  more  supported  assur- 
ance. I  remember  to  have  seen  him,  after  giving  his  opinion 
that  the  coloring  of  a  picture  was  not  mellow  enough,  very  de- 
libertately  take  a  brush  with  brown  varnish,  that  was  accidently 
lying  by,  and  rub  it  over  the  piece  with  great  composure  before 
all  the  company  and  then  ask  if  he  had  not  improved  the 
tints. 

"  When  he  had  finished  his  commission  in  Paris,  he  left  me 
strongly  recommended  to  several  men  of  distinction,  as  a  per- 
son very  proper  for  a  travelling  tutor  ;  and  after  some  time  I 
was  employed  in  that  capacity  by  a  gentleman  who  brought  his 
ward  to  Paris,  in  order  to  set  him  forward  on  his  tour  through 
Europe.  I  was  to  be  the  young  gentleman's  governor,  but  with 
a  proviso  that  he  should  always  be  permitted  to  govern  him- 
self. My  pupil  in  fact  understood  the  art  of  guiding  in  money 
concerns  much  better  than  I.  He  was  heir  to  a  fortune  of 
?bout  two  hundred  thousand  pounds,  left  him  by  an  uncle  in 


94  VICAR  OF  WAREFIELD. 

the  West  Indies :  and  his  guardians,  to  qualify  him  for  the 
management  of  it,  had  bound  him  apprentice  to  an  attorney. 
Thus  avarice  was  his  prevailing  passion ;  all  his  questions  on 
the  road  were,  how  money  might.be  saved;  which  was  the 
least  expensive  course  to  travel ;  whether  anything  could  be 
bought  that  would  turn  to  account  when  disposed  of  again  in 
London  ?  Such  curiosities  on  the  way  as  could  be  seen  for 
nothing,  he  was  ready  enough  to  look  at ;  but  if  the  sight  of 
them  was  to  be  paid  for,  he  usually  asserted  that  he  had  been 
told  they  were  not  worth  seeing.  He  never^paid  a  bill  that  he 
would  not  observe  how  amazingly  expensive  travelling  was^  and 
all  this  though  he  was  not  yet  twenty-one.  When  arrived  at 
Leghorn,  as  we  took  a  walk  to  look  at  the  port  and  shipping, 
he  inquired  the  expense  of  the  passage  by  sea  home  to  I  ig- 
land.  This  he  was  informed  was  but  a  trifle  compared  to  his 
returning  by  land ;  he  was  therefore  unable  to  withstand  the 
temptation  ;  so  paying  me  the  small  part  of  my  salary  that  was 
due,  he  took  leave,  and  embarked  with  only  one  attendant  for 
London. 

"  I  now  therefore  was  left  once  more  upon  the  world  at 
large ;  but  then  it  was  a  thing  that  I  was  used  to.  However, 
my  skill  in  music  could  avail  me  nothing  in  a  country  where 
every  peasant  was  a  better  musician  than  I  ;  but  by  this  time 
I  had  acquired  another  talent  which  answered  my  purpose  as 
well,  and  this  was  a  skill  in  disputation.  In  all  the  foreign  uni- 
versities and  convents  there  are,  upon  certain  days,  philosoph- 
ical theses  maintained  against  every  adventitious  disputant; 
for  which,  if  the  champion  opposes  with  any  dexterity,  he  can 
claim  a  gratuity  in  money,  a  dinner,  and  a  bed  for  one  night. 
In  this  manner,  therefore,  I  fought  my  way  towards  England, 
walked  along  from  city  to  city,  examined  mankind  more  nearly, 
and,  if  I  may  so  express  it,  saw  both  sides  of  the  picture.  My 
remarks,  however,  are  but  few  ;  I  found  that  monarchy  was  the 
best  government  for  the  poor  to  live  in,  and  commonwealths 
for  the- rich.  I  found  that  riches  in  general  were  in  every  coun- 
try another  name  for  freedom  ;  and  that  no  man  is  so  fond  of 
liberty  himself,  as  not  to  be  desirous  of  subjecting  the  will  of 
some  individuals  in  society  to  his  own. 

"  Upon  my  arrival  in  England  I  resolved  to  pay  my  respects 
first  to  you,  and  then  to  enlist  as  a  volunteer  in  the  first  expe- 
dition that  was  going  forward  ;  but  on  my  journey  down  my  re- 
solutions were  changed,  by  meeting  an  old  acquaintance,  who  I 
found  belonged  to  a  company  of  comedians  that  were  going  to 
make  a  summer  campaign  in  the  country.  The  company 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


95 


seemed  not  much  to  disapprove  of  me  for  an  associate.  They 
all,  however,  apprised  me  of  the  importance  of  the  task  at 
which  I  aimed ;  that  the  public  was  a  many-headed  mon- 
ster, and  that  only  such  as  had  very  good  heads  could  please 
it ;  that  acting  was  not  to  be  learned  in  a  day,  and  that 
without  some  traditional  shrugs,  which  had  been  on  the  stage, 
and  only  on  the  stage,  these  hundred  years,  I  could  never  pre- 
tend to  please.  The  next  difficulty  was  in  fitting  me  with 
parts,  as  almost  every  character  was  in  keeping. — I  was  driven 
for  some  time  from  one  character  to  another,  till  at  last  Horatio 
was  fixed  upon,  which  the  presence  of  the  present  company  has 
happily  hindered  me  from  acting." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

The  short  continuance  of  Friendship  amongst  the  Vicious,  which  is  coeval  only  with 
mutual  Satisfaction. 

MY  son's  account  was  too  long  to  be  delivered  at  once ;  the 
first  part  of  it  was  begun  that  night,  and  he  was  concluding  the 
rest  after  dinner  the  next  day,  when  the  appearance  of  Mr. 
ThornhilPs  equipage  at  the  door  seemed  to  make  a  pause  in 
the  general  satisfaction.  The  butler,  wjio  was  now  become  my 
friend  in  the  family,  informed  me  with  a  whisper,  that  the 
'Squire  had  already  made  some  overtures  to  Miss  Wilmot,  and 
that  her  aunt  and  uncle  seemed  highly  to  approve  the  match. 
Upon  Mr.  Thornhill's  entering,  he  seemed,  at  seeing  my  son 
and  me,  to  start  back ;  but  I  readily  imputed  that  to  surprise, 
and  not  displeasure.  However,  upon  our  advancing  to  salute 
him,  he  returned  our  greeting  with  the  most  apparent  candor  ; 
and  after  a  short  time  his  presence  served  only  to  increase  the 
general  good  humor. 

After  tea  he  called  me  aside  to  inquire  after  my  daughter  ; 
but  upon  my  informing  him  that  my  inquiry  was  unsuccessful, 
he  seemed  greatly  surprised  ;  adding,  that  he  had  been  since 
frequently  at  my  house  in  order  to  comfort  the  rest  of  my  family, 
whom  he  left  perfectly  well.  He  then  asked  it  I  had  com- 
municated her  misfortune  to  Miss  Wilmot  or  my  son  ;  and  upon 
my  replying  that  I  had  not  told  them  as  yet,  he  greatly  approved 
my  prudence  and  precaution,  desiring  me  by  all  means  to  keep 


96  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

it  a  secret :  "  For  at  best,"  cried  he,  "  it  is  but  divulging  one's 
own  infamy  ;  and  perhaps  Miss  Livy  may  not  be  so  guilty  as 
we  all  imagine."  We  were  here  interrupted  by  a  servant,  who 
came  to  ask  the  'Squire  in,  to  stand  up  at  country  dances,  so 
that  he  left  me  quite  pleased  with  the  interest  he  seemed  to 
take  in  my  concerns.  His  addresses,  however,  to  Miss  Wilmot, 
were  too  obvious  to  be  mistaken  :  and  yet  she  seemed  not  per- 
fectly pleased,  but  bore  them  rather  in  compliance  to  the  will 
of  her  aunt  than  from  real  inclination.  I  had  even  the  satis- 
faction to  see  her  lavish  some  kind  looks  upon  my  unfortunate 
son,  which  the  other  could  neither  extort  by  his  fortune  nor 
assiduity.  Mr.  Thornhill's  seeming  composure,  however,  not 
a  little  surprised  me  :  we  had  now  continued  here  a  week  at  the 
pressing  instances  of  Mr.  Arnold  :  but  each  day  the  more  ten- 
derness Miss  Wilmot  showed  my  son,  Mr.  Thornhill's  friend- 
ship seemed  proportionably  to  increase  for  him. 

He  had  formerly  made  us  the  most  kind  assurances  of  using 
his  interest  to  serve  the  family  :  but  now  his  generosity  was  not 
confined  to  promises  alone.  The  morning  I  designed  for  my 
departure,  Mr.  Thornhill  came  to  me  with  looks  of  real  pleas- 
ure, to  inform  me  of  a  piece  of  service  he  had  done  for  his 
friend  George.  This  was  nothing  less  than  his  having  procured 
him  an  ensign's  commission  in  one  of  the  regiments  that 
was  going  to  the  West  Indies,  for  which  he  hacl  promised  but 
one  hundred  pounds,  his  interest  having  been  sufficient  to  get 
an  abatement  of  the  other  two.  "  As  for  this  trifling  piece  of 
service,"  continued  the  young  gentleman,  "  I  desire  no  other 
reward  but  the  pleasure  of  having  served  my  friend  ;  and  as 
for  the  hundred  pounds  to  be  paid,  if  you  are  unable  to  raise  it 
yourselves,  I  will  advance  it,  and  you  shall  repay  me  at  your 
leisure."  This  was  a  favor  we  wanted  words  to  express  our 
sense  of  :  I  readily  therefore  gave  my  bond  for  the  money,  and 
testified  as  much  gratitude  as  if  I  never  intended  to  pay. 

George  was  to  depart  for  town  the  next  day  to  secure  his 
commission,  in  pursuance  of  his  generous  patron's  directions, 
^who  judged  it  highly  expedient  to  use  dispatch,  lest  in  the 
'meantime  another  should  step  in  with  more  advantageous  pro- 
posals. The  next  morning  therefore  our  young  soldier  was  early 
prepared  for  his  departure,  and  seemed  the  only  person  among 
us  that  was  not  affected  by  it.  Neither  the  fatigues  and  dan- 
gers he  was  going  to  encounter,  nor  the  friends  and  mistress — 
for  Miss  Wilmot  actually  loved  him — he  was  leaving  behind, 
any  way  damped  his  spirits.  After  he  had  taken  leave  of  the 
rest  of  the  company,  I  gave  him  all  I  had,  my  blessing.  "  And. 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


97 


now,  my  boy,"  cried  I,  "  thou  art  going  to  fight  for  thy  country, 
remember  how  thy  brave  grandfather  fought  for  his  sacred 
king,  when  loyalty  among  Britons  was  a  virtue.  Go,  my  boy, 
and  imitate  him  in  all  but  his  misfortunes,  if  it  was  a  misfortune 
to  die  with  Lord  Falkland.  Go,  my  boy,  and  if  you  fall,  though 
distant,  exposed,  and  unwept  by  those  that  love  you,  the  most 
precious  tears  are  those  with  which  Heaven  bedews  the  unburied 
head  of  a  soldier." 

The  next  morning  I  took  leave  of  the  good  family,  that  had 
been  kind  enough  to  entertain  me  so  long,  not  without  several 
expressions  of  gratitude  to  Mr.  Thornhill  for  his  late  bounty. 
I  left  them  in  the  enjoyment  of  all  that  happiness  which  afflu- 
ence and  good  breeding  procure,  and  returned  towards  home, 
despairing  of  ever  finding  my  daughter  more,  but  sending  a 
sigh  to  Heaven  to  spare  and  to  forgive  her.  I  was  now  come 
within  about  twenty  miles  of  home,  having  hired  a  horse  to  carry 
me,  as  I  was  yet  but  weak,  and  comforted  myself  with  the 
hopes  of  soon  seeing  all  I  held  dearest  upon  earth.  But  the 
night  coming  on  I  put  up  at  a  little  public-house  by  the  road  side, 
and  asked  for  the  landlord's  company  over  a  pint  of  wine.  We 
sat  beside  his  kitchen  fire,  which  was  the  best  room  in  the 
house,  and  chatted  on  politics  and  the  news  of  the  country. 
We  happened,  among  other  topics,  to  talk  of  young  'Squire 
Thornhill,  who,  the  host  assured  me,  was  hated  as  much  as  his 
uncle  Sir  William,  who  sometimes  came  down  to  the  country, 
was  loved.  He  went  on  to  observe  that  he  made  it  his  whole 
study  to  betray  the  daughters  of  such  as  received  him  to  their 
houses,  and  after  a  fortnight  or  three  week's  possession,  turned 
them  out  unrewarded  and  abandoned  to  the  world.  As  we 
continued  our  discourse  in  this  manner,  his  wife,  who  had  been 
out  to  get  change,  returned,  and  perceiving  that  her  husband 
was  enjoying  a  pleasure  in  which  she  was  not  a  sharer,  she 
asked  him  in  an  angry  tone,  what  ho  did  there  ?  to  which  he 
only  replied  in  an  ironical  way,  by  drinking  her  health.  "  Mr. 
Symmonds,"  cried  she,  "you  use  me  very  ill,  and  I'll  bear  it  no 
longer.  Here  three  parts  of  the  business  is  left  for  me  to  do, 
and  the  fourth  left  unfinished;  while  you  do  nothing  but  soak 
with  the  guests  all  day  long :  whereas  if  a  spoonful  of  liquor 
were  to  cure  me  of  a  fever,  I  never  touch  a  drop."  I  now 
found  what  she  would  be  at,  and  immediately  poured  her  out  a 
glass,  which  she  received  with  a  curtsey,  and  drinking  towards 
my  good  health,  "Sir,"  resumed  she,  "it  is  not  so  much  for 
the  value  of  the  liquor  I  am  angry,  but  one  cannot  help  it  when 
the  house  is  going  out  of  the  windows*  If  the.  customers  or 

7 


9g  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD, 

guests  are  to  be  dunned,  all  the  burden  lies  upon  my  back ; 
he'd  as  lief  eat  that  glass  as  budge  after  them  himself.  There, 
now,  above  stairs,  we  have  a  young  woman  who  has  come  to  take 
up  her  lodgings  here,  and  I  don't  believe  she  has  got  any  money 
by  her  over  civility.  I  am  certain  she  is  very  slow  of  payment, 
and  I  wish  she  were  put  in  mind  of  it." — "  What  signifies 
minding  her,"  cried  the  host,  "  if  she  be  slow  she  is  sure." — "  I 
don't  know  that,"  replied  the  wife  ;  "but  I  know  that  I  am  sure 
she  has  been  here  a  fortnight,  and  we  have  not  yet  seen  the 
cross  of  her  money." — "  I  suppose,  my  dear,"  cried  he,  "  we 
shall  have  it  all  in  a  lump." — "  In  a  lump  !"  cried  the  other,  "  I 
hope  we  may  get  it  any  way  ;  and  that  I  am  resolved  we  will 
this  very  night,  or  out  she  tramps,  bag  and  baggage." — "  Con- 
sider, my  dear,"  cried  the  husband,  "she  is  a  gentlewoman,  and 
deserves  more  respect." — "As  for  the  matter  of  that,"  returned 
the  hostess,"  gentle  or  simple,out  she  shall  pack  with  a  sassarara. 
Gentry  may  be  good  things  where  they  take  ;  but  for  my  part,  I 
never  saw  much  good  of  them  at  the  sign  of  the  Harrow." — Thus 
saying,  she  ran  up  a  narrow  flight  of  stairs  that  went  from  the 
kitchen  to  a  room  overhead  :  and  I  soon  perceived,  by  the 
loudness  of  her  voice,  and  the  bitterness  of  her  reproaches,  that 
no  money  was  to  be  had  from  her  lodger.  I  could  hear  her 
remonstrances  very  distinctly ;  "  Out  I  say ;  pack  out  this 
moment  !  tramp,  thou  infamous  strumpet,  or  I'll  give  thee  a 
mark  thou  won't  be  the  better  for  these  three  months.  What ! 
you  trumpery,  to  come  and  take  up  an  honest  house  without 
cross  or  coin  to  bless  yourself  with  ;  come  along,  I  say." — "  O, 
dear  madam,"  cried  the  stranger,  "  pity  me,  pity  a  poor  aban- 
doned creature  for  one  night,  and  death  will  soon  do  the  rest." 
— I  instantly  knew  the  voice  of  my  poor  ruined  child  Olivia  ;  I 
flew  to  her  rescue,  while  the  woman  was  dragging  her  along 
by  the  hair,  and  I  caught  the  dear  forlorn  wretch  in  my  arms. 
— "  Welcome,  any  way  welcome,  my  dearest  lost  one,  my  treas- 
ure, to  your  poor  old  father's  bosom  !  Though  the  vicious 
forsake  thee,  there  is  yet  one  in  the  world  that  will  never  for- 
sake thee  ;  though  thou  hadst  ten  thousand  crimes  to  answer 
for,  he  will  forget  them  all." — "O  my  own  dear  " — for  minutes 
she  could  say  no  more — "  my  own  dearest,  good  papa  !  could 
angels  be  kinder !  how  do  I  deserve  so  much  ! — The  villain,  I 
hate  him  and  myself,  to  be  a  reproach  to  such  goodness.  You 
can't  forgive  me,  I  know  you  cannot."—"  Yes,  my  child,  from  my 
heart  I  do  forgive  thee !  Only  repent,  and  we  both  shall  yet 
be  happy.  We  shall  see  many  pleasant  days  yet,  my  Olivia  ?  "' 
-~"  Ah  !  never,  sir,  never.  The  rest  of  my  wretched  life  must 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


99 


be  infamy  abroad,  and  shame  at  home.  But,  alas  !  papa,  you 
look  much  paler  than  you  used  to  do.  Could  such  a  thing  as 
I  am  give  you  so  much  uneasiness  ?  Surely  you  have  too  much 
wisdom  to  take  the  miseries  of  my  guilt  upon  yourself." — • 
"  Our  wisdom,  young  woman,"  replied  I. — "  Ah,  why  so  cold  a 
name,  papa  ?  "  cried  she.  "  This  is  the  first  time  you  ever 
called  me  by  so  cold  a  name."  "  I  ask  pardon,  my  darling,"  re- 
turned I  ;  "  but  I  was  going  to  observe,  that  wisdom  makes  but 
a  slow  defence  against  trouble,  though  at  last  a  sure  one."  The 
landlady  now  returned  to  know  if  we  did  not  choose  a  more 
genteel  apartment ;  to  which  assenting,  we  were  shown  into  a 
room  where  we  could  converse  more  freely.  After  we  had 
talked  ourselves  into  some  degree  of  tranquillity,  I  could  not 
avoid  desiring  some  account  of  the  gradations  that  led  to  her 
present  wretched  situation.  "That  villain,  sir,"  said  she, 
"  from  the  first  day  of  our  meeting  made  me  honorable  though 
private  proposals." 

"  Villain,  indeed  !  "  cried  I  :  "  and  yet  it  in  some  measure 
surprises  me,  how  a  person  of  Mr.  Burchell's  good  sense  and 
seeming  honor  could  be  guilty  of  such  deliberate  baseness,  and 
thus  step  into  a  family  to  undo  it." 

"  My  dear  papa,"  returned  my  daughter,  "  you  labor  under  a 
strange  mistake.  Mr.  Burchell  never  attempted  to  deceive  me  ; 
instead  of  that,  he  took  every  opportunity  of  privately  admonish- 
ing me  against  the  artifices  of  Mr.  Thornhill,  who  I  now  find 
was  even  worse  than  he  represented  him."  "  Mr.  Thornhill," 
interrupted  I,  "  can  it  be  ?  " — "  Yes,  sir,''  returned  she  ;  "  it  was 
Mr.  Thornhill  who  seduced  me ;  who  employed  the  two  ladies, 
as  he  called  them,  but  who  in  fact  were  abandoned  women  of 
the  town,  without  breeding  or  pity,  to  decoy  us  up  to  London. 
Their  artifices,  you  may  remember,  would  have  certainly 
succeeded,  but  for  Mr.  Burchell's  letter,  who  directed  those  re- 
proaches at  them,  which  we  all  applied  to  ourselves.  How  he 
came  to  have  so  much  influence  as  to  defeat  their  intentions, 
still  remains  a  secret  to  me ;  but  I  am  convinced  he  was  ever 
our  warmest,  sincerest  friend." 

"  You  amaze  me,  my  dear,"  cried  I;  "but  now  I  find  my 
first  suspicions  of  Mr.  Thornhill's  baseness  were  too  well 
grounded  :  but  he  can  triumph  in  security,  for  he  is  rich  and 
we  are  poor.  But  tell  me,  my  child,  sure  it  was  no  small  temp- 
tation that  could  thus  obliterate  all  the  impressions  of  such  an 
education  and  so  virtuous  a  disposition  as  thine." 

"Indeed,  sir,"  replied  she,  "he  owes  all  his  triumph  to  the 
desire  I  had  of  making  him,  and  not  myself,  happy.  I  knew 


300  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

that  the  ceremony  of  our  marriage,  which  was  privately  per- 
formed by  a  popish  priest,  was  no  way  binding,  and  that  I  had 
nothing  to  trust  to  but  his  honor." — "  What !  "  interrupted  I, 
"  and  were  you  indeed  married  by  a  priest,  and  in  orders  ?  " — 
"  Indeed,  sir,  we  were,"  replied  she,  "  though  we  were  both 
sworn  to,conceal  his  name." — "  Why,  then,  my  child,  come  to 
my  arms  again  ;  and  now  you  are  a  thousand  times  more  wel- 
come than  before  ;  for  you  are  now  his  wife  to  all  intents  and 
purposes  ;  nor  can  all  the  laws  of  man,  though  written  upon 
tables  of  adamant,  lessen  the  force  of  that  sacred  connection." 

"  Alas,  papa,"  replied  she,  "  you  are  but  little  acquainted 
with  his  villanies  ;  he  has  been  married  already  by  the  same 
priest  to  six  or  eight  wives  more,  whom,  like  me,  he  has 
deceived  and  abandoned." 

"  Has  he  so  ?  "  cried  I,  "  then  we  must  hang  the  priest,  and 
you  shall  inform  against  him  to-morrow."  "  But,  sir,"  re- 
turned she,  "will  that  be  right,  when  I  am  sworn  to  secrecy  ?  " 
— "  My  dear,"  I  replied,  "  if  you  have  made  such  a  promise  I 
cannot,  nor  will  I  tempt  you  to  break  it.  Even  though  it  may 
benefit  the  public,  you  must  not  inform  against  him.  In  all 
human  institutions  a  smaller  evil  is  allowed  to  procure  a  greater 
good ;  as  in  politics,  a  province  may  be  given  away  to  secure 
a  kingdom ;  in  medicine,  a  limb  may  be  lopped  off  to  preserve 
the  body ;  but  in  religion,  the  law  is  written,  and  inflexible, 
never  to  do  evil.  And  this  law,  my  child  is  right ;  for  other- 
wise, if  we  commit  a  smaller  evil  to  procure  a  greater  good, 
certain  guilt  would  be  thus  incurred,  in  expectation  of  contin- 
gent advantage.  And  though  the  advantage  should  certainly 
follow,  yet  the  interval  between  commission  and  advantage,which 
is  allowed  to  be  guilty,  may  be  that  in  which  we  are  called 
away  to  answer  for  the  things  we  have  done,  and  the  volume 
of  human  actions  is  closed  forever.  But  I  interrupt  you,  my 
dear ;  go  on." 

"The  very  next  morning,"  continued  she,  "I  found  what 
little  expectation  I  was  to  have  from  his  sincerity.  That  very 
morning  he  introduced  me  to  two  unhappy  women  more,  whom, 
like  me,  he  had  deceived,  but  who  lived  in  contented  prostitu- 
tion. I  loved  him  too  tenderly  to  bear  such  rivals  in  his  affec- 
tions, and  strove  to  forget  my  infamy  in  a  tumult  of  pleasures. 
With  this  view  I  danced,  dressed,  and  talked  ;  but  was  still  un- 
happy. The  gentlemen  who  visited  there  told  me  every  moment 
of  the  power  of  my  charms,  and  this  only  contributed  to  increase 
my  melancholy  as  I  had  thrown  all  their  power  quite  away. 
Thus  each^day  I  grew  more  pensive,  and  he  more  insolent,  till  at 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  Iol 

last  the  monster  had  the  assurance  to  offer  me  to  a  young  baro- 
net of  his  acquaintance.  Need  I  describe,  sir,  how  his  ingrati- 
tude stung  me  ?  My  answer  to  this  proposal  was  almost  mad- 
ness. I  desired  to  part.  As  I  was  going  he  offered  me  a 
purse  ;  but  I  flung  it  at  him  with  indignation,  and  burst  from 
him  in  a  rage,  that  for  awhile  kept  me  insensible  of  the  miseries 
of  my  situation.  But  I  soon  looked  around  me,  and  saw  my- 
self a  vile,  abject,  guilty  thing,  without  one  friend  in  the  world 
to  apply  to.  Just  in  that  interval  a  stage-coach  happening  to 
pass  by,  I  took  a  place,  it  being  my  aim  to  be  driven  at  a  dis- 
tance from  a  wretch  I  despised  and  detested.  I  was  set  down 
here,  where,  since  my  arrival,  my  own  anxiety,  and  this  woman's 
unkindness  have  been  my  only  companions.  The  hours  of 
pleasure  that  I  have  passed  with  my  mamma  and  sister  are  now 
grown  painful  to  me.  Their  sorrows  are  much  ;  but  mine  are 
greater  than  their's,  for  mine  are  mixed  with  guilt  and  infamy." 
"  Have  patience,  my  child,"  cried  I,  "  and  I  hope  things 
will  yet  be  better.  Take  some  repose  to-night,  and  to-morrow 
I'll  carry  you  home  to  your  mother  and  the  rest  of  the  family, 
from  whom  you  will  receive  a  kind  reception. — Poor  woman, 
this  has  gone  to  her  heart :  but  she  loves  you  still,  Olivia,  and 
will  forget  it." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

Offences  are  easily  pardoned  where  there  is  Love  at  bottom. 

THE  next  morning  I  took  my  daughter  behind  me,  and  set 
out  on  mv  return  home.  As  we  travelled  along,  I  strove  by 
every  persuation  to  calm  her  sorrows  and  fears,  and  to  arm  her 
with  resolution  to  bear  the  presence  of  her  offended  mother. 
I  took  every  opportunity  from  the  prospect  of  a  fine  country, 
through  which  we  passed,  to  observe  how  much  kinder  heaven 
was  to  us  than  we  to  each  other,  and  that  the  misfortunes  of 
nature's  making  were  very  few.  I  assured  her,  that  she  should 
never  perceive  any  change  in  my  affections,  and  that  during  my 
life,  which  yet  might  be  long,  she  might  depend  upon  a  guardian 
and  an  instructor.  I  armed  her  against  the  censures  of  the 
world,  showed  her  that  books  were  sweet  unreproaching  com- 
panions to  the  miserable,  and  that  if  they  could  not  bring  us  to 
enjoy  life,  they  would  at  least  teach  us  to  endure  it. 


102  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

The  hired  horse  that  we  rode  was  to  be  put  up  that  night 
at  an  inn  by  the  way,  within  about  five  miles  from  my -house  , 
and  as  I  was  willing  to  prepare  my  family  for  my  daughter's  re- 
ception, I  determined  to  leave  her  that  night  at  the  inn,  and  to 
return  for  her,  accompanied  by  my  daughter  Sophia,  early  the 
next  morning.  It  was  night  before  we  reached  our  appointed 
stage  :  however,  after  seeing  her  provided  with  a  decent  apart- 
ment, and  having  ordered  the  hostess  to  prepare  proper  refresh- 
ments, I  kissed  her,  and  proceeded  towards  home.  And  now 
my  heart  caught  new  sensations  of  pleasure  the  nearer  I  ap- 
proached that  peaceful  mansion.  As  a  bird  that  has  been 
frighted  from  its  nest,  my  affections  outwent  my  haste,  and 
hovered  around  my  little  fireside  with  all  the  rapture  of  expec- 
tation. I  called  up  the  many  fond  things  I  had  to  say,  and  an- 
ticipated the  welcome  I  was  to  receive.  I  already  felt  my  wife's 
tender  embrace,  and  smiled  at  the  joy  of  my  little  ones.  As  I 
walked  but  slowly,  the  night  waned  apace.  The  laborers  of  the 
day  were  all  retired  to  rest ;  the  lights  were  out  in  every  cot- 
tage ;  no  sounds  were  heard  but  of  the  shrilling  cock,  and  the 
deep-mouthed  watch-dog  at  hollow  distance.  I  approached  my 
little  abode  of  pleasure,  and  before  I  was  within  a  furlong  of 
the  place,  our  honest  mastiff  came  running  to  welcome  me. 

It  was  now  near  midnight  that  I  came  to  knock  at  my  door  ; 
— all  was  still  and  silent ; — my  heart  dilated  with  unutterable 
happiness,  when,  to  my  amazement,  I  saw  the  house  bursting 
out  into  a  blaze  of  fire,  and  every  aperture  red  with  conflagra- 
tion !  I  gave  a  loud  convulsive  outcry,  and  fell  upon  the  pave- 
ment insensible.  This  alarmed  my  son,  who  had  till  this  been 
asleep,  and  he  perceiving  the  flames,  instantly  waked  my  wife 
and  (laughter ;  and  all  running  out,  naked,  and  wild  with  ap- 
prehension, recalled  me  to  life  with  their  anguish.  But  it  was 
only  to  objects  of  new  terror ;  for  the  flames  had  by  this  time 
caught  the  roof  of  our  dwelling,  part  after  part  continuing  to 
fall  in,  while  the  family  stood  with  silent  agony  looking  on  as  if 
they  enjoyed  the  blaze.  I  gazed  upon  them  and  upon  it  by 
turns,  and  then  looked  round  me  for  my  two  little  ones  ;  but 
they  were  not  to  be  seen.  O  misery  !  "  Where,"  cried  I, 
"  where  are  my  little  ones  ? "  "  They  are  burnt  to  death  in  the 
flames,"  says  my  wife,  calmly,  "  and  I  will  die  with  them." — 
That  moment  I  heard  the  cry  of  the  babes  within,  who  were 
just  awaked  by  the  fire,  and  nothing  could  have  stopped  me. 
"  Where,  where  are  my  children  ?  "  cried  I,  rushing  through 
the  flames,  and  bursting  the  door  of  the  chamber  in  which  they 
were  confined  ;  "  where  are  my  little  ones  ?  " — "  Here,  dear 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


1,03 


papa  here  we  are,"  cried  they  together,  while  the  flames  were 
just  catching  the  bed  where  they  lay.  I  caught  them  both  in 
my  arms,  and  snatched  them  through  the  fire  as  fast  as  possible, 
while,  just  as  I  was  got  out,  the  roof  sunk  in.  "  Now,"  cried 
I.  holding  up  my  children,  "  now  let  the  flames  burn  on,  and 
all  my  possessions  perish.  Here  they  are  ;  I  have  saved  my 
treasure.  Here,  my  dearest,  here  are  our  treasures,  and  we 
shall  yet  be  happy."  We  kissed  our  little  darlings  a  thousand 
times ;  they  clasped  us  round  the  neck,  and  seemed  to  share 
our  transports,  while  their  mother  laughed  and  wept  by  turns. 

I  now  stood  a  calm  spectator  of  the  flames,  and  after  some 
time  began  to  perceive  that  my  arm  to  the  shoulder  was 
scorched  in  a  terrible  manner.  It  was  therefore  out  of  my 
power  to  give  my  son  any  assistance,  either  in  attempting  to 
save  our  goods,  or  preventing  the  flames  spreading  to  our  corn. 
By  this  time  the  neighbors  were  alarmed,  and  came  running  to 
our  assistance  ;  but  all  they  could  do  was  to  stand,  like  us,  spec- 
tators of  the  calamity.  My  goods,  among  which  were  the  notes 
I  had  reserved  for  my  daughters'  fortunes,  were  entirely  con- 
sumed, except  a  box  with  some  papers  that  stood  in  the  kitchen, 
and  two  or  three  things  more  of  little  consequence,  which  my 
son  brought  away  in  the  beginning.  The  neighbors  contributed, 
however,  what  they  could  to  lighten  out  distress.  They  brought 
us  clothes,  and  furnished  one  of  our  out-houses  with  kitchen 
utensils  ;  so  that  by  daylight  we  had  another,  though  a  wretched 
dwelling  to  retire  to.  My  honest  next  neighbor  and  his 
children  were  not  the  least  assiduous  in  providing  us  with  every 
thing  necessary,  and  offering  whatever  consolation  untutored 
benevolence  could  suggest. 

When  the  fears  of  my  family  had  subsided,  curiosity  to  know 
the  cause  of  my  long  stay  began  to  take  place  :  having  there- 
fore informed  them  of  every  particular,  I  proceeded  to  prepare 
them  for  the  reception  of  our  lost  one,  and  though  we  had 
nothing  but  wretchedness  now  to  impart,  I  was  willing  to  pro- 
cure her  a  welcome  to  what  we  had.  This  task  would  have 
been  more  difficult  but  for  our  recent  calamity,  which  had  hum- 
bled my  wife's  pride,  and  blunted  it  by  more  poignant  afflic- 
tions. Being  unable  to  go  for  my  poor  child  myself,  as  my  arm 
grew  very  painful,  I  sent  my  son  and  daughter,  who  soon  re- 
turned, supporting  the  wretched  delinquent,  who  had  not  the 
courage  to  look  up  at  her  mother,  whom  no  instruction  of  mine 
could  persuade  to  a  perfect  reconciliation  :  for  women  have  a 
much  stronger  sense  of  female  error  than  men.  "  Ah,  madam," 
cried  her  mother,  "  this  is  but  a  poor  place  you  have  come  to 


104  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

after  so  much  finery.  My  daughter  Sophy  and  I  can  afford  but 
little  entertainment  to  persons  who  have  kept  company  only 
with  people  of  distinction.  Yes,  Miss  Livy,  your  poor  father 
and  I  have  suffered  very  much  of  late  :  but  I  hope  Heaven  will 
forgive  you."  During  this  reception,  the  unhappy  victim  stood 
pale  and  trembling,  unable  to  weep  or  reply :  but  I  could  not 
continue  a  silent  spectator  of  her  distress ;  wherefore,  assuming 
a  degree  of  severity  in  my  voice  and  manner,  which  was  ever 
followed  with  instant  submission,  "  I  entreat,  woman,  that  my 
words  may  be  now  marked  once  for  all :  I  have  here  brought 
you  back  a  poor  deluded  wanderer;  her  return  to  duty  de- 
mands the  revival  of  our  tenderness.  The  real  hardships  of 
life  are  now  coming  fast  upon  us  ;  let  us  not,  therefore,  increase 
them  by  dissension  among  each  other  !  If  we  live  harmoniously 
together  we  may  yet  be  contented,  as  there  are  enough  of  us  to 
shut  out  the  censuring  world,  and  keep  each  other  in  counte- 
nance. The  kindness  of  Heaven  is  promised  to  the  penitent, 
and  let  ours  be  directed  by  the  example.  Heaven,  we  are  as- 
sured, is  much  more  pleased  to  view  a  repentant  sinner,  than 
ninety-nine  persons  who  have  supported  a  course  of  undeviating 
rectitude.  And  this  is  right ;  for  that  single  effort  by  which  we 
stop  short  in  the  down-hill  path  to  perdition,  is  itself  a  greater 
exertion  of  virtue  than  a  hundred  acts  of  justice." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

None  but  the  guilty  can  be  long  and  completely  miserable. 

SOME  assiduity  was  now  required  to  make  our  present  abode 
as  convenient  as  possible,  and  we  were  soon  again  qualified  to 
enjoy  our  former  serenity.  Being  disabled  myself  from  as- 
sisting my  son  in  our  usual  occupations,  I  read  to  my  family 
from  the  few  books  that  were  saved,  and  particularly  from 
such  as,  by  amusing  the  imagination,  contributed  to  ease  the 
heart.  O.ur  good  neighbors,  too,  came  every  day  with  the 
kindest  condolence,  and  fixed  a  time  in  which  they  were  all  to 
assist  in  repairing  my  former  dwelling.  Honest  Farmer  Wil- 
liams was  not  the  last  among  these  visitors  ;  but  heartily  offered 
his  friendship.  He  would  even  have  renewed  his  addresses  to 
my  daughter  ;  but  she  rejected  him  in  such  a  manner  as  totally 
repressed  his  future  solicitations. — Her  grief  seemed  formed 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  Iog 

for  continuing,  and  she  was  the  only  person  of  our  little  society 
that  a  week  did  not  restore  to  cheerfulness.  She  now  lost  that 
unblushing  innocence  which  once  taught  her  to  respect  herself, 
and  to  seek  pleasure  by  pleasing. — Anxiety  now  had  taken  pos- 
session of  her  mind  ;  her  beauty  began  to  be  impaired  with  her 
constitution,  and  neglect  still  more  contributed  to  diminish  it 
Every  tender  epithet  bestowed  on  her  sister  brought  a  pang  to 
her  heart  and  a  tear  to  her  eye  ;  and  as  one  vice,  though  cured, 
ever  plants  others  where  it  has  been,  so  her  former  guilt, 
though  driven  out  by  repentance,  left  jealousy  and  envy  behind. 
I  strove  a  thousand  ways  to  lessen  her  care,  and  even  forgot 
my  own  pains  in  a  concern  for  hers,  collecting  such  amusing 
passages  of  history  as  a  strong  memory  and  some  reading 
could  suggest. — "  Our  happiness,  my  dear,"  I  would  say,"  is  in 
the  power  of  one  who  can  bring  it  about  a  thousand  unforeseen 
ways  that  mock  our  foresight.  If  example  be  necessary  to  prove 
this,  I'll  give  you  a  story,  my  child,  told  us  by  a  grave,  though 
sometimes  a  romancing,  historian. 

"  Matilda  was  married  very  young  to  a  Neapolitan  nobleman 
of  the  first  quality,  and  found  herself  a  widow  and  a  mother  at  the 
age  of  fifteen.  As  she  stood  one  day  caressing  her  infant  son  in 
the  open  window  of  an  apartment  which  hung  over  the  river 
Volturna,  the  child  with  a  sudden  spring  leaped  from  her  arms 
into  the  flood  below,  and  disappeared  in  a  moment.  The 
mother,  struck  with  instant  surprise,  and  making  an  effort  to 
save  him,  plunged  in  after  ;  but  far  from  being  able  to  assist 
the  infant,  she  herself  with  great  difficulty  escaped  to  the  opposite 
shore,  just  when  some  French  soldiers  were  plundering  the 
country  on  that  side,  who  immediately  made  her  their  prisoner. 

"  As  the  war  was  then  carried  on  between  the  French  and 
Italians  with  the  utmost  inhumanity,  they  were  going  at  once 
to  perpetrate  those  two  extremes  suggested  by  appetite  and 
cruelty.  This  base  resolution,  however,  was  opposed  by  a 
young  officer,  who,  though  their  retreat  required  the  utmost 
expedition,  placed  her  behind  him,  and  brought  her  in  safety 
to  his  native  city.  Her  beauty  at  first  caught  his  eye,  her  merit 
soon  after  his  heart.  They  were  married  ;  he  rose  to  the  highest 
posts  ;  they  lived  long  together,  and  were  happy.  But  the 
felicity  of  a  soldier  can  never  be  called  permanent :  after  an 
interval  of  several  years,  the  troops  which  he  commanded  hav- 
ing met  with  a  repulse,  he  was  obliged  to  take  shelter  in  the 
city  where  he  had  lived  with  his  wife.  Here  they  suffered  a 
siege,  and  the  city  at  length  was  taken.  Few  histories  can 
produce  more  various  instances  of  cruelty  than  those  which 


106  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

the  French  and  Italians  at  that  time  exercised  upon  each  othef. 
It  was  resolved  by  the  victors,  upon  this  occasion,  to  put  all 
the  French  prisoners  to  death  ;  but  particularly  the  husband  of 
the  unfortunate  Matilda,  as  he  was  principally  instrumental  in 
protracting  the  siege.  Their  determinations  were  in  general 
executed  almost  as  soon  as  resolved  upon.  The  captive  soldier 
was  led  forth,  and  the  executioner  with  his  sword  stood  ready, 
while  the  spectators  in  gloomy  silence  awaited  the  fatal  blow, 
which  was  only  suspended  till  the  general,  who  presided  as 
judge,  should  give  the  signal.  It  was  in  this  interval  of  anguish 
and  expectation  that  Matilda  came  to  take  a  last  farewell  of 
her  husband  and  deliverer,  deploring  her  w,retched  situation, 
and  the  cruelty  of  fate,  that  had  saved  her  from  perishing  by 
a  premature  death  in  the  river  Volturna,  to  be  the  spectator  of 
still  greater  calamities.  The  general,  who  was  a  young  man, 
was  struck  with  surprise  at  her  beauty,  and  pity  at  her  distress  ; 
but  with  still  stronger  emotions  when  he  heard"  her  mention  her 
former  dangers.  He  was  her  son,  the  infant  for  whom  she  had 
encountered  so  much  danger.  He  acknowledged  her  at  once 
as  his  mother,  and  fell  at  her  feet.  The  rest  maybe  easily 
supposed  ;  the  captive  was  set  freCj  and  all  the  happiness  that 
love,  friendship,  and  duty  could  confer  on  each,  were  united." 

In  this  manner  I  would  attempt  to  amuse  my  daughter,  but 
she  listened  with  divided  attention  ;  for  her  own  misfortunes 
engrossed  all  the  pity  she  once  had  for  those  of  another,  and 
nothing  gave  her  ease.  In  company  she  dreaded  contempt ; 
and  in  solitude  she  only  found  anxiety.  Such  was  the  color  of 
her  wretchedness,  when  we  received  certain  information  that 
Mr.  Thornhill  was  going  to  be  married  to  Miss  Wilmot,  for 
whom  I  always  suspected  he  had  a  real  passion,  though  he  took 
every  opportunity  before  me  to  express  his  contempt  both  of 
her  person  and  fortune.  This  news  only  served  to  increase 
poor  Olivia's  affliction  :  such  a  flagrant  breach  of  fidelity  was 
more  than  her  courage  could  support.  I  was  resolved,  how- 
ever, to  get  more  certain  information,  and  to  defeat  if  possible 
the  completion  of  his  designs,  by  sending  my  son  to  old  Mr. 
Wilmot's  with  instructions  to  know  the  truth  of  the  report,  and 
to  deliver  Miss  Wilmot  a  letter,  intimating  Mr.  ThornhilFs  con- 
duct in  my  family.  My  son  went  in  pursuance  of  my  directions, 
and  in  three  days  returned,  assuring  us  of  the  truth  of  the 
account ;  hut  that  he  had  found  it  impossible  to  deliver  the 
letter,  which  he  was  therefore  obliged  to  leave,  as  Mr.  Thorn- 
hill  and  Miss  Wilmot  were  visiting  round  the  country.  They 
were  to  be  married,  he  said,  in  a  few  days,  having  appeared 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


107 


together  at  church  the  Sunday  before  he  was  there,  in  great 
splendor,  the  bride  attended  by  six  young  ladies,  and  he  by  as 
many  gentlemen.  Their  approaching  nuptials  filled  the  whole 
country  with  rejoicing,  and  they  usually  rode  out  together  in 
the  grandest  equipage  that  had  been  seen  in  the  country  for 
many  years.  All  the  friends  of  both  families,  he  said,  were 
there,  particularly  the  'Squire's  uncle,  Sir  William  Thornhill, 
who  bore  so  good  a  character.  He  added  that  nothing  but 
mirth  and  feasting  were  going  forward  ;  that  all  the  country 
praised  the  young  bride's  beauty,  and  the  bridegroom's  fine 
person,  and  that  they  were  immensely  fond  of  each  other ;  con- 
cluding that  he  could  not  help  thinking  Mr.  Thornhill  one  of 
the  most  happy  men  in  the  world. 

"  Why,  let  him,  if  he  can,"  returned  I :  "  but,  my  son,  ob- 
serve this  bed  of  straw,  and  unsheltering  roof  ;  those  moulder- 
ing walls,  and  humid  floor ;  my  wretched  body  thus  disabled 
by  fire,  and  my  children  weeping  around  me  for  bread  ; — you 
have  come  home,  my  child,  to  all  this ;  yet  here,  even  here,  you 
see  a  man  that  would  not  for  a  thousand  worlds  exchange  situa- 
tions. O,  my  children,  if  you  could  but  learn  to  commune  with 
your  own  hearts,  and  know  what  noble  company  you  can  make 
them,  you  would  little  regard  the  elegance  and  splendor  of  the 
worthless.  Almost  all  men  have  been  taught  to  call  life  a  pas- 
sage, and  themselves  the  travellers.  The  similitude  still  may 
be  improved,  when  we  observe  that  the  good  are  joyful  and 
serene,  like  travellers  that  are  going  towards  home ;  the  wicked 
but  by  intervals  happy,  like  travellers  that  are  going  into 
exile." 

My  compassion  for  my  poor  daughter,  overpowered  by  this 
new  disaster,  interrupted  what  I  had  further  to  observe.  I  bade 
her  mother  support  her,  and  after  a  short  time  she  recovered. 
She  appeared  from  that  time  more  calm,  and  I  imagined  had 
gained  a  new  degree  of  resolution  :  but  appearances  deceived 
ms ;  for  her  tranquillity  was  the  languor  of  over-wrought  resent- 
ment. A  supply  .of  provisions,  charitably  sent  us  by  my  kind 
parishioners,  seemed  to  diffuse  new  cheerfulness  among  the 
rest  of  the  family,  nor  was  I  displeased  at  seeing  them  once 
more  sprightly  and  at  ease.  It  would  have  been  unjust  to  damp 
their  satisfactions,  merely  to  condole  with  resolute  melancholy, 
or  to  burden  them  with  a  sadness  they  did  not  feel.  Thus  once 
more  the  tale  went  round,  and  the  song  was  demanded,  and 
cheerfulness  condescended  to  hover  round  our  little  habitation. 


108  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Fresh  Calamities. 

THE  next  morning  the  sun  arose  with  peculiar  warmth  for 
the  season,  so  that  we  agreed  to  breakfast  together  on  the 
honey-suckle  bank ;  where,  while  we  sat,  my  youngest  daughter 
at  my  request  joined  her  voice  to  the  concert  on  the  trees  about 
us.  It  was  in  this  place  my  poor  Olivia  first  met  her  seducer, 
and  every  object  served  to  recall  her  sadness.  But  that  mel- 
ancholy which  is  excited  by  objects  of  pleasure,  or  inspired  by 
sounds  of  harmony,  soothes  the  heart  instead  of  corroding  it. 
Her  mother,  too,  upon  this  occasion  felt  a  pleasing  distress, 
and  wept,  and  loved  her  daughter  as  before.  "  Do,  my  pretty 
Olivia,"  cried  she,  "  let  us  have  that  little  melancholy  air  your 
papa  was  so  fond  of;  your  sister  Sophy  has  already  obliged  us. 
Do,  child,  it  will  please  your  old  father."  She  complied  in  a 
manner  so  exquisitely  pathetic  as  moved  me. 

When  lovely  woman  stoops  to  folly, 
And  finds  too  late  that  men  betray, 

What  charms  can  soothe  her  melancholy, 
What  art  can  wash  her  guilt  away  ? 

The  only  art  her  guilt  to  cover, 
To  hide  her  shame  from  every  eye, 

To  give  repentance  to  her  lover, 
And  wring  his  bosom^is  to  die. 

As  she  was  concluding  the  last  stanza,  to  which  an  inter- 
ruption in  her  voice  from  sorrow  gave  a  peculiar  softness,  the 
appearance  of  Mr.  ThornhilPs  equipage  at  a  distance  alarmed 
us  all,  but  particularly  increased  the  uneasiness  of  my  eldest 
daughter,  who,  desirous  of  shunning  her  betrayer,  returned  to 
the  house  with  her  sister.'  In  a  few  minutes  he  was  alighted 
from  his  chariot,  and  making  up  to  the  place  where  I  was  still 
sitting,  inquired  after  my  health  with  his  usual  air  of  familiarity. 
"  Sir,"  replied  I,  "your  present  assurance  only  serves  to  aggra- 
vate the  baseness  of  your  character  ;  and  there  was  a  time  when 
I  would  have  chastised  your  insolence  for  presuming  thus  to 
appear  before  me.  But  now  you  are  safe  ;  for  age  has  cooled 
my  passions,  and  my  calling  restrains  them." 

"  I  vow,  my  dear  sir,"  returned  he,  "  I  am  amazed  at  all  this  ; 
nor  can  I  understand  what  it  means  !  I  hope  you  don't  think 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


109 


your  daughter's  late  excursion  with  me  had  anything  criminal 
in  it  ? " 

"  Go,"  cried  I,  "  thou  art  a  wretch,  a  poor  pitiful  wretch, 
and  every  way  a  liar  :  but  your  meanness  secures  you  from  my 
anger  !  Yet,  sir,  I  am  descended  from  a  family  that  would  not 
have  borne  this ! — And  so,  thou  vile  thing,  to  gratify  a  momen- 
tary passion,  thou  hast  made  one  poor  creature  wretched  for 
life,  and  polluted  a  family  that  had  nothing  but  honor  for  their 
portion  ! " 

"  If  she  or  you,"  returned  he,  "  are  resolved  to  be  miserable, 
I  cannot  help  it.  But  you  may  still  be  happy  ;  and  whatever 
opinion  you  may  have  formed  of  me,  you  shall  ever  find  me 
ready  to  contribute  to  it.  We  can  marry  her  to  another  in  a 
short  time,  and  what  is  more,  she  may  keep  her  lover  beside; 
for  I  protest  I  shall  ever  continue  to  have  a  true  regard  for 
her." 

I  found  all  my  passions  alarmed  at  this  new  degrading  pro- 
posal ;  for  though  the  mind  may  often  be  calm  under  great  in- 
juries, little  villany  can  at  any  time  get  within  the  soul,  and 
sting  it  into  rage.  "  Avoid  my  sight,  thou  reptile  !  "  cried  I, 
"  nor  continue  to  insult  me  with  thy  presence.  Were  my  brave 
son  at  home  he  would  not  suffer  this ;  but  I  am  old  and  dis- 
abled, and  every  way  undone." 

"  I  find,"  cried  he,  "  you  are  bent  upon  obliging  me  to  talk  in  a 
harsher  manner  than  I  intended.  But  as  I  have  shown  you 
what  may  be  hoped  from  my  friendship,  it  may  not  be  improper 
to  represent  what  may  be  the  consequences  of  my  resentment. 
My  attorney,  to  whom  your  late  bond  has  been  transferred, 
threatens  hard,  nor  do  I  know  how  to  prevent  the  course  of 
justice,  except  by  paying  the  money  myself,  which,  as  I  have 
been  at  some  expenses  lately,  previous  to  my  intended  marriage, 
is  not  so  easy  to  be  done.  And  then  my  steward  talks  of  driv- 
ing for  the  rent :  it  is  certain  he  knows  his  duty ;  for  I  never 
trouble  myself  with  affairs  of  that  nature.  Yet  still  I  could  wish 
to  serve  you,  and  even  to  have  you  and  your  daughter  present 
at  my  marriage,  which  is  shortly  to  be  solemnized  with  Miss 
Wilmot ;  it  is  even  the  request  of  my  charming  Arabella  her- 
self, whom  I  hope  you  will  not  refuse."* 

"Mr.  Thornhill,"  replied  I,  "hear  me  once  for  all :  As  to 
your  marriage  with  any  but  my  daughter,  that  I  never  will 
consent  to  ;  and  though  your  friendship  could  raise  me  to  a 
throne,  or  your  resentment  sink  me  to  the  grave,  yet  would  I 
despise  both.  Thou,  hast  once  wofully,  irreparably  deceived 
jne.  I  reposed  my  heart  upon  thine  honor,  and  have  found  its 


IIO  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

baseness.  Never  more  therefore  expect  friendship  from  me. 
Go,  and  possess  what  fortune  has  given  thee,  beauty,  riches, 
health,  and  pleasure.  Go,  and  leave  me  to  want,  infamy,  dis- 
ease and  sorrow.  Yet,  humbled  as  I  am,  shall  my  heart  still 
vindicate  its  dignity;  and  though  thou  hast  my  forgiveness, 
thou  shalt  ever  have  my  contempt." 

"  If  so,"  returned  he,  "  depend  upon  it  you  shall  feel  the 
effects  of  this  insolence  !  and  we  shall  shortly  see  which  is  the 
fittest  object  of  scorn,  you  or  me." — Upon  which  he  departed 
abruptly. 

My  wife  and  son,  who  were  present  at  this  interview,  seemed 
terrified  with  apprehension.  My  daughters,  also,  rinding  that 
he  was  gone,  came  out  to  be  informed  of  the  result  of  our  con- 
ference, which,  when  known,  alarmed  them  not  less  then  the 
rest.  But  as  to  myself,  I  disregarded  the  utmost  stretch  of  his 
malevolence :  he  had  already  struck  the  blow,  and  now  I  stood 
prepared  to  repel  every  new  effort ;  like  one  of  those  instru- 
ments used  in  the  art  of  war,  which,  however  thrown,  still  pre- 
sents a  point  to  receive  the  enemy. 

We  soon  however  found  that  he  had  not  threatened  in  vain  ; 
for  the  very  next  morning  his  steward  came  to  demand  my  an- 
nual rent,  which  by  the  train  of  accidents  already  related,  I 
was  unable  to  pay.  The  consequence  of  my  incapacity  was 
his  driving  my  cattle  that  evening,  and  their  being  appraised 
and  sold  the  next  day  for  less  than  half  their  value. — My  wife 
and  children  now  therefore  entreated  me  to  comply  upon  any 
terms,  rather  than  incur  certain  destruction.  They  even  begged 
of  me  to  admit  his  visits  once  more,  and  used  all  their  little 
eloquence  to  paint  the  calamities  I  was  going  to  endure  ; — the 
terrors  of  a  prison  in  so  rigorous  a  season  as  the  present,  with 
the  danger  that  threatened  my  health  from  the  late  accident 
that  happened  by  the  fire.  But  I  continued  inflexible. 

"Why,  my  treasures,"  cried  I,  "why  will  you  thus  attempt 
to  persuade  me  to  the  thing  that  is  not  right !  My  duty  has 
taught  me  to  forgive  him,  but  my  conscience  will  not  permit  me 
to  approve.  Would  you  have  me  applaud  to  the  world  what 
my  heart  must  internally  condemn  ?  Would  you  have  me  tamely 
sit  down  and  flatter  our  infamous  betrayer  ;  and,  to  avoid  a 
prison,  continually  suffer  the  more  galling  bonds  of  mental  con- 
finement ?  No,  never.  If  we  are  to  be  taken  from  this  abode, 
only  let  us  hold  to  the  right ;  and  wherever  we  are  thrown,  we 
can  still  retire  to  a  charming  apartment,  when  we  can  look 
round  our  own  hearts  with  intrepidity  and  pleasure  ! " 

In  this  manner  we  spent  that  evening.     Early  the  next 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  IIt 

morning,  as  the  snow  had  fallen  in  great  abundance  in  the  night, 
my  son  was  employed  in  clearing  it  away,  and  opening  a  pass- 
age before  the  door.  He  had  not  been  thus  engaged  long,  when 
he  came  running  in,  with  looks  all  pale,  to  tell  us  that  two 
strangers,  whom  he  knew  to  be  officers  of  the  justice,  were 
making  towards  the  house. 

Just  as  he  spoke  they  came  in,  and  approaching  the  bed 
where  I  lay,  after  previously  informing  me  of  their  employment 
and  business,  made  me  their  prisoner,  bidding  me  prepare  to 
go  with  them  to  the  county  jail,  which  was  eleven  miles  off. 

"  My  friend,"  said  I,  "  this  is  severe  weather  in  which  you 
have  come  to  take  me  to  a  prison;  and  it  is  particularly  un- 
fortunate at  this  time,  as  one  of  my  arms  has  lately  been  burnt 
in  a  terrible  manner,  and  it  has  thrown  me  into  a  slight  fever, 
and  I  want  clothes  to  cover  me  ;  and  I  am  now  too  weak  and 
old  to  walk  far  in  such  deep  snow  ;  but  if  it  must  be  so " 

I  then  turned  to  my  wife  and  children,  and  directed  them 
to  get  together  what  few  things  were  left  us,  and  prepare  imme- 
diately for  leaving  this  place.  I  entreated  them  to  be  expedi- 
tious, and  desired  my  son  to  assist  his  eldest  sister,  who  from 
a  consciousness  that  she  was  the  cause  of  all  our  calamities, 
was  fallen,  and  had  lost  anguish  in  insensibility.  I  encour- 
aged my  wife,  who,  pale  and  trembling,  clasped  our  affrighted 
little  ones  in  her  arms,  that  clung  to  her  bosom  in  silence, 
dreading  to  look  round  at  the  strangers.  In  the  meantime  my 
youngest  daughter  prepared  for  our  departure,  and  as  she  re- 
ceived several  hints  to  use  dispatch,  in  about  an  hour  we  were 
ready  to  depart. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

No  situation,  however  wretched  it  seems,  but  has  some  sort  of  comfort  attending  it. 

WE  set  forward  from  this  peaceful  neighborhood,  and  walked 
on  slowly.  My  eldest  daughter  being  enfeebled  by  a  slow 
fever,  which  had  begun  for  some  days  to  undermine  her  con- 
stitution, one  of  the  officers,  who  had  a  horse,  kindly  took  her 
behind  him  ;  for  even  these  men  cannot  entirely  divest  them- 
selves of  humanity.  My  son  led  one  of  the  little  ones  by  the 
hand,  and  my  wife  the  other,  while  I  leaned  upon  my  youngest 
girl,  whose  tears  fell  not  for  her  own  but  my  distresses. 

We  were,  now  got  from  my  late  dwelling  about  two  miles, 


1I2  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

when  we  saw  a  crowd  running  and  shouting  behind  us,  consist- 
ing of  about  fifty  of  my  poorest  parishioners.  These,  with 
dreadful  imprecations,  soon  seized  upon  the  two  officers  of  jus- 
tice, and  swearing  they  would  never  see  their  minister  go  to 
jail  while  they  had  a  drop  of  blood  to  shed  in  his  defence, 
were  going  to  use  them  with  great  severity.  The  consequence 
might  have  been  fatal  had  I  not  immediately  interposed,  and 
with  some  difficulty  rescued  the  officers  from  the  hands  of  the 
enraged  multitude.  My  children,  who  looked  upon  my  de- 
livery now  as  certain,  appeared  transported  with  joy,  and  were 
incapable  of  containing  their  raptures.  But  they  were  soon 
undeceived,  upon  hearing  me  address  the  poor  deluded  people, 
who  came  as  they  imagined  to  do  me  service. 

"  What !  my  friends,"  cried  I,  "  and  is  this  the  way  you 
love  me  ?  Is  this  the  manner  you  obey  the  instructions  I  have 
given  you  from  the  pulpit  ?  Thus  to  fly  in  the  face  of  justice, 
and  bring  down  ruin  on  yourselves  and  me  !  Which  is  your 
ring-leader  ?  Show  me  the  man  that  has  thus  seduced  you. 
As  sure  as  he  lives  he  shall  feel  my  resentment. — Alas  !  my 
dear  deluded  flock,  return  back  to  the  duty  you  owe  to  God,  to 
your  country,  and  to  me.  I  shall  yet  perhaps  one  day  see  you 
in  greater  felicity  here,  and  contribute  to  make  your  lives  more 
happy.  But  let  it  at  least  be  my  comfort  when  I  pen  my  fold 
for  immortality,  that  notrone  here  shall  be  wanting." 

They  now  seemed  all  repentance,  and  melting  into  tears, 
came  one  after  the  other  to  bid  me  farewell.  I  shook  each 
tenderly  by  the  hand,  and  leaving  them  my  blessing,  proceeded 
forward  without  meeting  any  further  interruption.  Some  hours 
before  night  we  reached  the  town,  or  rather  village,  for  it  con- 
sisted but  of  a  few  mean  houses,  having  lost  all  its  former 
opulence,  and  retaining  no  marks  of  its  ancient  superiority  but 
the  jail. 

Upon  entering  we  put  up  at  the  inn,  where  we  had  such  re- 
freshments as  could  most  readily  be  procured,  and  I  supped 
with  my  family  with  my  usual  cheerfulness.  After  seeing  them 
properly  accommodated  for  that  night,  I  next  attended  the 
sheriff's  officers  to  the  prison,  which  had  formerly  been  built 
for  the  purpose  of  war,  and  consisted  of  one  large  apart- 
ment, strongly  grated  and  paved  with  stone,  common  to  both 
felons  and  debtors  at  certain  hours  in  the  four-and-twenty. 
Besides  this,  every  prisoner  had  a  separate  cell,  where  he  was 
locked  in  for  the  night. 

I  expected  upon  my  entrance  to  find  nothing  but  lamenta- 
tions and  various  sounds  of  misery  :  but  it  was  very  different. 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  II;J 

The  prisoners  seemed  all  employed  in  one  common  design, 
that  of  forgetting  thought  in  merriment  or  clamor.  I  was  ap- 
prized of  the  usual  perquisite  required  upon  these  occasions, 
and  immediately  complied  with  the  demand,  though  the  little 
money  I  had  was  very  near  being  all  exhausted.  This  was  im- 
mediately sent  a\\ay  for  liquor,  and  the  whole  prison  soon  was 
filled  with  riot,  laughter,  and  profaneness. 

"  How,"  cried  I  to  myself,  "  shall  men  so  very  wicked  be 
cheerful,  and  shall  I  be  melancholy  ?  I  feel  only  the  same  con- 
finement with  them,  and  I  think  I  have  more  reason  to  be 
happy." 

With  such  reflections  I  labored  to  become  cheerful,  but 
cheerfulness  was  never  yet  produced  by  effort,  which  is  itself 
painful.  As  I  was  sitting,  therefore,  in  a  corner  of  the  jail  in 
a  pensive  posture,  one  of  my  fellow-prisoners  came  up,  and 
sitting  by  me,  entered  into  conversation.  It  was  my  constant 
rule  in  life  never  to  avoid  the  conversation  of  any  man  who 
seemed  to  desire  it :  for,  if  good,  I  might  profit  by  his  instruc- 
tion ;  if  bad  he  might  be  assisted  by  mine.  ,  I  found  this  to  be 
a  knowing  man,  of  strong  unlettered  sense,  but  a  thorough 
knowledge  of  the  world,  as  it  is  called,  or  more  properly  speak- 
ing, of  human  natureT  on  tfee  wrong  side.  He  asked  me  if  I 
had  taken  care  to  provide  myself  with  a  bed,  which  was  a  cir- 
cumstance I  had  never  attended  to. 

"That's  unfortunate,"  cried  he,  "as  you  are  allowed  here 
nothing  but  straw,  and  your  apartment  is  very  large  and  cold. 
However,  you  seem  to  be  something  of  a  gentleman,  and  as  I 
have  been  one  myself  in  my  time,  part  of  my  bed-clothes  are 
heartily  at  your  service." 

I  thanked  him,  professing  my  surprise  at  finding  such  hu- 
manity in  a  jail  in  misfortunes ;  adding  to  let  him  see  that  I 
was  a  scholar,  "  That  the  sage  ancient  seemed  to  understand 
the  value  of  company  in  affliction,  when  he  said,  Ton  kosmon 
aire,  ei  dos  ton  etairon  ;  and  in  fact,"  continued  I,  "what  is  the 
world  if  it  affords  only  solitude  ?  " 

"  You  talk  of  the  world,  sir,"  returned  my  fellow-prisoner  ; 
"the  world  is  in  its  dotage  ;  and  yet  the  cosmogony  or  creation 
of  the  world  has  puzzled  the  philosophers  of  every  age.  What 
a  medley  of  opinions  have  they  not  broached  upon  the  creation 
of  the  world!  Sanchoniathon,  Manetho,  BerosuS,  and  Ocellus 
Lucanus,  have  all  attempted  it  in  vain.  The  latter  has  these 
words,  Anarchon  ara  kai  atelutaion  to  pan,  which  imply — "  "I 
ask  pardon,  sir,"  cried  I,  "  for  interrupting  so  much  learning  ; 
but  I  think  I  have  heard  all  this  before.  Have  I  not  had  the 

3 


H4  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

pleasure  of  Once  seeing  you  at  Welbridge  fair,  and  is  not  your 
name  Ephraim  Jenkinson  ?  "  At  this  demand  he  only  sighed. 
"I  suppose  you  must  recollect,"  resumed  I,  "one  Doctor  Prim- 
rose, from  whom  you  bought  a  horse  ?  " 

He  now  at  once  recollected  me  ;  for  the  gloominess  of  the 
place  and  the  approaching  night  had  prevented  his  distinguish- 
ing my  features  before. — "  Yes,  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Jenkinson, 
"  I  remember  you  perfectly  well  ;  I  bought  a  horse,  but  forgot 
to  pay  for  him.  Your  neighbor  Flamborough  is  the  only  prose- 
cutor I  am  in  any  way  afraid  of  at  the  next  assizes ;  for  he  in- 
tends to  swear  positively  against  me  as  a  coiner.  I  am  heartily 
sorry,  sir,  I  ever  deceived  you,  or  indeed  any  man  ;  for  you 
see,"  continued  he,  showing  his  shackles,  "what  my  tricks  have 
brought  me  to." 

"Well,  sir,"  replied  I,  "your  kindness  in  offering  me  as= 
sistance  when  you  could  expect  no  return,  shall  be  repaid  with 
my  endeavors  to  soften  or  totally  suppress  Mr.  Flamborough's 
evidence,  and  I  will  send  my  son  to  him  for  that  purpose  the 
first  opportunity  ;  nor  do  I  in  the  least  doubt  but  he  will  com- 
ply with  my  request ;  and  as  to  my  own  evidence,  you  need  be 
under  no  uneasiness  about  that." 

"  Well,  sir,"  cried  he,  "  all  the  §eturn  I  can  make  shall  be 
yours.  You  shall  have  more  than  half  my  bed-clothes  to-night, 
and  I'll  take  care  to  stand  your  friend  in  the  prison,  where  I 
think  I  have  some  influence." 

I  thanked  him,  and  could  not  svoid  being  surprised  at  the 
present  youthful  change  in  his  aspect,  for  at  the  time  I  had 
seen  him  before,  he  appeared  at  least  sixty- — >;  Sir,"  answered 
he,  "  you  are  little  acquainted  with  the  world ;  I  had  at  that 
time  false  hair,  and  have  learned  the  art  of  counterfeiting  every 
age  from  seventeen  to  seventy.  Ah  !  sir,  had  I  but  bestowed 
half  the  pains  in  learning  a  trade  that  I  have  in  learning  to  be 
a  scoundrel,  I  might  have  been  a  rich  man  at  this  day.  But 
rogue  as  I  am,  still  I  may  be  your  friend,  and  that  perhaps  when 
you  least  expect  it." 

We  were  now  prevented  from  further  conversation  by  the 
arrival  of  the  jailer's  servants,  who  came  to  call  over  the  pris- 
oner's names  and  lock  up  for  the  night.  .A  fellow  also  with  a 
bundle  of  straw  for  my  bed  attended,  who  led  me  along  a  dark 
narrow  passage  into  a  room  paved  like  the  common  prison,  and 
in  one  corner  of  this  I  spread  my  bed,  and  the  clothes  given 
me  by  my  fellow-prisoner ;  which  done,  my  conductor,  who  was 
civil  enough,  bade  me  a  good-night.  After  my  usual  medita- 
tions, and  having  praised  my  Heavenly  Corrector,  I  laid  my- 
self down,  and  slept  with  the  utmost  tranquillity  till  morning. 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A  Reformation  in  the  Jail. — To  make  laws  complete,  they  should  Reward  as  well  as 

Punish. 

THE  next  morning  early  I  was  awakened  by  my  family, 
whom  I  found  in  tears  at  my  bedside.  The  gloomy  strength 
of  everything  about  us,  it  seems,  had  daunted  them.  I  gently 
rebuked  their  sorrow,  assuring  them  I  had  never  slept  with 
greater  tranquillity,  and  next  inquired  after  my  eldest  daughter, 
who  was  not  among  them.  They  informed  me  that  yesterday's 
uneasiness  and  fatigue  had  increased  her  fever,  and  it  was 
judged  proper  to  leave  her  behind.  My  next  care  was  to  send 
my  son  to  procure  a  room  or  two  to  lodge  the  family  in,  as  near 
the  prison  as  conveniently  could  be  found.  He  obeyed  ;  but 
could  only  find  one  apartment,  which  was  hired  at  a  small  ex- 
pense for  his  mother  and  sisters,  the  jailer  with  humanity  con- 
senting to  let  him  and  his  two  little  brothers  lie  in  the  prison 
with  me.  A  bed  was  therefore  prepared  for  them  in  a  corner 
of  the  room,  which  I  thought  answered  very  conveniently.  I 
was  willing,  however,  previously  to  know  whether  my  children 
chose  to  lie  in  a  place  which  seemed  to  fright  them  upon 
entrance. 

"  Well,"  cried  I,  "  my  good  boys,  how  do  you  like  your  bed  ? 
I  hope  you  are  not  afraid  to  lie  in  this  room,  dark  as  it  appears  ?  " 

"  No,  papa,"  says  Dick,  "  I  am  not  afraid  to  lie  anywhere 
where  you  are." 

"  And  I,"  says  Bill,  who  was  yet  but  four  years  old,  "  love 
every  place  best  that  my  papa  is  in." 

After  this  I  allotted  to  each  of  the  family  what  they  were 
to  do.  My  daughter  was  particularly  directed  to  watch  her  de- 
clining sister's  health  ;  my  wife  was  to  attend  me  ;  my  little 
boys  were  to  read  to  me.  "  And  as  for  you,  my  son,"  con- 
tinued I,  "  it  is  by  the  labor  of  your  hands  we  must  all  hope  to 
be  supported.  Your  wages  as  a  day-laborer  will  be  fully  suffi- 
cient, with  proper  frugality,  to  maintain  us  all,  and  comfortably 
too.  Thou  art  now  sixteen  years  old,  and  hast  strength  ;  and 
it  was  given  thee,  my  son,  for  very  useful  purposes  ;  for  it  must 
save  from  famine  your  helpless  parents  and  family.  Prepare 
then  this  evening  to  look  out  for  work  against  to-morrow,  and 
;bring  home  every  night  what  money  you  can  earn  for  our 
'support," 


U6  VICAR  OF  WAKE  FIELD. 

Having  thus  instructed  him,  and  settled  the  rest,  I  walked 
down  to  the  common  prison,  where  I  could  enjoy  more  air  and 
room.  But  I  was  not  long  there  when  the  execrations,  lewd- 
ness  and  brutality  that  invaded  me  on  every  side,  drove  me 
back  to  my  apartment  again.  Here  I  sat  for  some  time  ponder- 
ing upon  the  strange  infatuation  of  wretches,  who,  finding  all 
mankind  in  open  arms  against  them,  were  laboring  to  make 
themselves  a  future  and  a  tremendous  enemy. 

Their  insensibility  excited  my  highest  compassion,  and 
blotted  my  own  uneasiness  from  my  mind.  It  even  appeared 
a  duty  incumbent  upon  me  to  attempt  to  reclaim  them.  I  re- 
solved therefore  once  more  to  return,  and,  in  spite  of  their  con- 
tempt, to  give  them  my  advice,  and  conquer  them  by  my  perse- 
verance. Going  therefore  among  them  again,  I  informed  Mr. 
Jenkinson  of  my  design,  at  which  he  laughed  heartily,  but  com- 
municated it  to  the  rest.  The  proposal  was  received  with  the 
greatest  good-humor,  as  it  promised  to  afford  a  new  fund  of 
entertainment  to  persons  who  had  now  no  other  resource  for 
mirth,  but  what  could  be  derived  from  ridicule  or  debauchery. 

I  therefore  read  them  a  portion  of  the  service  with  a  loud 
unaffected  voice,  and  found  my  audience  perfectly  merry  upon 
the  occasion.  Lewd  whispers,  groans  of  contrition  burlesqued, 
winking  and  coughing,  alternately  excited  laughter.  However 
I  continued  with  my  natural  solemnity  to  read  on,  sensible  that 
what  I  did  might  mend  some,  but  could  itself  receive  no  con- 
tamination from  any. 

After  reading  I  entered  upon  my  exhortation,  which  was 
rather  calculated  at  first  to  amuse  them  than  to  reprove,  I 
previously  observed,  that  no  other  motive  but  their  welfare 
could  induce  me  to  this ;  that  I  was  their  fellow-prisoner,  and 
now  got  nothing  by  preaching.  I  was.  sorry,  I  said,  to  hear 
them  so  very  profane  ;  because  they  got  nothing  by  it,  but 
might  lose  a  great  deal :  "  For  be  assured,  my  friends,"  cried 
I,  "for  you  are  my  friends,  however  the  world  may  disclaim 
your  friendship,  though  you  swore  twelve  thousand  oaths  in  a 
day,  it  would  not  put  one  penny  in  your  purse.  Then  what 
signifies  calling  every  moment  upon  the  devil,  and  courting 
his  friendship,  since  you  find  how  scurvily  he  uses  you  ?  He 
has  given  you  nothing  here,  you  find,  but  a  mouthful  of  oaths 
and  an  empty  belly,  and  by  the  best  accounts  I  have  of  him, 
he  will  give  you  nothing  that's  good  hereafter. 

"  If  used  ill  in  our  dealings  with  one  man,  we  naturally  go 
elsewhere.  Were  it  not  worth  your  while,  then,  just  to  try 
how  you  may  like  the  usage  of  another  master,  who  gives  you 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  jrj 

fair  promises  at  least  to  come  to  him  ?  Surely,  my  friends,  of 
all  stupidity  in  the  world,  his  must  be  the  greatest,  who  after 
robbing  a  house,  runs  to  the  thief-takers  for  protection.  And 
yet  how  are  you  more  wise  ?  You  are  all  seeking  comfort  from 
one  that  has  already  betrayed  you,  applying  to  a  more  mali- 
cious being  than  any  thief-taker  of  them  all :  for  they  only  de- 
coy and  then  hang  you  :  but  he  decoys  and  hangs,  and  what  is 
worst  of  all,  will  not  let  you  loose  after  the  hangman  has  done." 

When  I  had  concluded,  I  received  the  compliments  of  my 
audience,  some  of  whom  came  and  shook  me  by  the  hand, 
swearing  that  I  was  a  very  honest  fellow,  and  that  they  desired 
my  further  acquaintance.  I  therefore  promised  to  repeat  my 
lecture  next  day,  and  actually  conceived  some  hopes  of  mak- 
ing a  reformation  here  ;  for  it  had  ever  been  my  opinion,  that 
no  man  was  past  the  hour  of  amendment,  every  heart  lying 
open  to  the  shafts  of  reproof,  if  the  archer  could  but  take  a 
proper  aim.  When  I  had  thus  satisfied  my  mind,  I  went  back 
to  my  apartment,  where  my  wife  prepared  a  frugal  meal,  while 
Mr.  Jenkinson  begged  leave  to  add  his  dinner  to  ours,  and 
partake  of  the  pleasure,  as  he  was  kind  enough  to  express  it, 
of  my  conversations.  He  had  not  yet  seen  my  family  ;  for  as 
they  came  to  my  apartment  by  a  door  in  the  narrow  passage 
already  described,  by  this  means  they  avoided  the  common 
prison.  Jenkinson  at  the  first  interview,  therefore,  seemed  not 
a  little  struck  with  the  beauty  of  my  youngest  daughter,  which 
her  pensive  air  contributed  to  heighten  ;  and  my  little  ones  did 
not  pass  unnoticed. 

"  Alas,  doctor,"  cried  he,  "  these  children  are  too  hand- 
some and  too  good  for  such  a  place  as  this  ! " 

"  Why,  Mr.  Jenkinson  !  "  replied  I,  "  thank  Heaven  my 
children  are  pretty  tolerable  in  morals  ;  and  if  they  be  good, 
it  matters  little  for  the  rest." 

"  I  fancy,  sir,"  returned  my  fellow-prisoner,  "  that  it  must 
give  you  great  comfort  to  have  all  this  little  family  about  you." 

"  A  comfort,  Mr.  Jenkinson  !  "  replied  I ;  "  yes,  it  is  in- 
deed a  comfort,  and  I  would  not  be  without  them  for  all  the 
world  ;  for  they  can  make  a  dungeon  seem  a  palace.  There 
is  but  one  way  in  this  life  of  wounding  my  happiness,  and  that 
is  by  injuring  them. 

"  I  am  afraid  then,  sir,"  cried  he,  "  that  I  am  in  some 
measure  culpable ;  for  I  think  I  see  here  (looking  at  my  son 
Moses),  one  that  I  have  injured,  and  by  whom  I  wish  to  be 
forgiven." 

My  son  immediately  recollected  his  voice  and  features, 


n8  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

though  he  had  before  seen  him  in  disguise,  and  taking  him  by 
the  hand,  with  a  smile  forgave  him.  "  Yet,"  continued  he, 
"  I  can't  help  wondering  at  what  you  could  see  in  my  face,  to 
think  me  a  proper  mark  for  deception." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  returned  the  other,  "  it  was  not  your  face, 
but  your  white  stockings,  and  the  black  ribbon  in  your  hair, 
that  allured  me.  But  no  disparagement  to  your  parts,  I  have 
deceived  wiser  men  than  you  in  my  time  ;  and  yet,  with  all  my 
tricks,  the  blockheads  have  been  too  many  for  me  at  last." 

"  I  suppose,"  cried  my  son,  "  that  the  narrative  of  such  a 
life  as  yours  must  be  extremely  instructive  and  amusing." 

"  Not  much  of  either,"  returned  Mr.  Jenkinson.  "  Those 
relations  which  describe  the  tricks  and  vices  only  of  mankind, 
by  increasing  our  suspicion  in  life,  retard  our  success.  The 
traveller  that  distrusts  every  person  he  meets,  and  turns  back 
upon  the  appearance  of  every  man  that  looks  like  a  robber, 
seldom  arrives  in  time  at  his  journey's  end. 

"  Indeed  I  think,  from  my  own  experience,  that  the  know- 
ing one  is  the  silliest  fellow  under  the  sun.  I  was  thought  cun- 
ning from  my  very  childhood  :  when  but  seven  years  old,  the 
ladies  would  say  that  I  was  a  perfect  little  man ;  at  fourteen  I 
knew  the  world,  cocked  my  hat,  and  loved  the  ladies ;  at 
twenty,  though  I  was  perfectly  honest,  yet  every  one  thought 
me  so  cunning  that  not  one  would  trust  me.  Thus  I  was  at 
last  obliged  to  turn  sharper  in  my  own  defence,  and  have 
lived  ever  since,  my  head  throbbing  with  schemes  to  deceive, 
and  my  heart  palpitating  with  fears  of  detection.  I  used  often 
to  laugh  at  your  honest,  simple  neighbor  Flamborough,  and 
one  way  or  another  generally  cheated  him  once  a  year.  Yet 
still  the  honest  man  went  forward  without  suspicion  and  grew 
rich,  while  I  still  continued  tricksy  and  cunning,  and  was  poor, 
without  the  consolation  of  being  honest.  However,"  continued 
he,  "  let  me  know  your  case,  and  what  has  brought  you  here  ; 
perhaps,  though  I  have  not  skill  to  avoid  a  jail  myself,  I  may 
extricate  my  friends." 

In  compliance  with  his  curiosity,  I  informed  him  of  the 
whole  train  of  accidents  and  follies  that  had  plunged  me  into 
my  present  troubles,  and  my  utter  inability  to  get  free. 

After  hearing  my  story,  and  pausing  some  minutes,  he  slap- 
ped his  forehead,  as  if  he  had  hit  upon  something  material, 
and  took  his  leave,  saying  he  would  try  what  could  be  done. 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

The  same  subject  continued. 

THE  next  morning  I  communicated  to  my  wife  and  children 
the  scheme  I  had  planned  of  reforming  the  prisoners,  which 
they  received  with  universal  disapprobation,  alleging  the  im- 
possibility and  impropriety  of  it,  adding,  that  my  endeavors 
•would  no  way  contribute  to  their  amendment,  but  might  pro- 
bably disgrace  my  calling. 

"  Excuse  me,"  returned  I,  "these  people,  however  fallen, 
are  still  men  ;  and  that  is  a  very  good  title  to  my  affections. 
Good  counsel  rejected,  returns  to  enrich  the  giver's  bosom  ; 
and  though  the  instruction  I  communicate  may  not  mend  them, 
yet  it  will  assuredly  mend  myself.  If  these  wretches,  my  chil- 
dren, were  princes,  there  would  be  thousands  ready  to  offer 
their  ministry ;  but  in  my  opinion,  the  heart  that  is  buried  in  a 
dungeon  is  as  precious  as  that  seated  upon  a  throne.  Yes, 
my  treasures,  if  I  can  mend  them,  I  will ;  perhaps  they  will 
not  all  despise  me.  Perhaps  I  may  catch  up  even  one  from 
the  gulf,  and  that  will  be  a  great  gain  ;  for  is  there  upon  earth 
a  gem  so  precious  as  the  human  soul  ?  " 

Thus  saying,  I  left  them,  artd  descended  to  the  common 
prison,  where  I  found  the  prisoners  very  merry,  expecting  my 
arrival ;  and  each  prepared  wifrh  some  jail  trick  to  play  upon 
the  doctor.  Thus,  as  I  was  going  to  begin,  one  turned  my  wig 
awry,  as  if  by  accident,  and  then  asked  my  pardon.  A  second 
who  stood  at  some  distance,  had  a  knack  of  spitting  through 
his  teeth,  which  fell  in  showers  upon  my  book.  A  third  would 
cry  amen  in  such  an  affected  tone,  as  gave  the  rest  great  de- 
light. A  fourth  had  slily  picked  my  pocket  of  my  spectacles. 
But  there  was  one  whose  trick  gave  more  universal  pleasure 
than  all  the  rest ;  for  observing  the  manner  in  which  I  had 
disposed  my  books  on  the  table  before  me,  he  very  dexterously 
displaced  one  of  them  aad  put  an  obscene  jest-book  of  his 
own  in  the  place.  However,  I  took  no  notice  of  all  that  this 
mischievous  group  of  little  beings  could  do,  but  went  on  per- 
fectly sensible  that  what  was  ridiculous  in  my  attempt  would 
excite  mirth  only  the  first  or  second  time,  while  what  was  seri- 
ous would  be  permanent.  My  design  succeeded,  and  in  less 
than  six  days  some  were  penitent,  and  all  attentive. 


120  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

It  was  now  that  I  applauded  my  perseverance  and  address, 
at  thus  giving  sensibility  to  wretches  divested  of  every  moral 
feeling ;  and  now  began  to  think  of  doing  them  temporal  ser- 
vices also  by  rendering  their  situation  somewhat  more  comfort- 
able. Their  time  had  hitherto  been  divided  between  famine 
and  excess,  tumultuous  riot  and  bitter  repining.  Their  only 
employment  was  in  quarelling  among  each  other,  playing  at 
cribbage,  and  cutting  tobacco-stoppers.  From  this  last  mode 
of  idle  industry  I  took  the  hint  of  setting  such  as  chose  to  work 
at  cutting  pegs  for  tobacconists  and  shoemakers,  the  proper 
wood  being  bought  by  a  general  subscription,  and  when  manu- 
factured, sold  by  my  appointment,  so  that  each  earned  some- 
thing every  day — a  trifle  indeed,  but  sufficient  to  maintain  him. 

I  did  not  stop  here,  but  instituted  fines  for  the  punishment  of 
immorality,  and  rewards  for  peculiar  industry.  Thus  in  less 
than  a  fortnight  I  had  formed  them  into  something  social  and 
humane,  and  had  the  pleasure  of  regarding  myself  as  a  legisla- 
tor, who  had  brought  men  from  their  native  ferocity  into  friend- 
ship and  obedience. 

And  it  were  highly  to  be  wished,  that  legislative  power 
would  thus  direct  the  law  rather  to  reformation  than  severity  ; 
that  it  would  see,m  convinced,  that  the  work  of  eradicating 
crimes  is  not  by  making  punishments  familiar,  but  formidable. 
Then,  instead  of  our  present  prisons,  which  find  or  make  men 
guilty,  which  enclose  wretches  for  the  commission  of  one  crime, 
and  return  them,  if  returned  alive,  fitted  for  the  perpetration 
of  thousands  ;  we  should  see,  as  in  other  parts  of  Europe,  places 
of  penitence  and  solitude,  where  the  accused  might  be  attended 
by  such  as  could  give  them  repentance  if  guilty,  or  new  motives 
to  virtue  if  innocent.  And  this,  but  not  the  increasing  punish- 
ments, is  the  way  to  mend  a  state.  Nor  can  I  avoid  even 
questioning  the  validity  of  that  right  which  social  combinations 
have  assumed,  of  capitally  punishing  offences  of  a  slight  nature. 
In  cases  of  murder  their  right  is  obvious,  as  it  is  the  duty  of  us 
all,  from  the  law  of  self-defence,  to  cut  off  that  man  who  has 
shown  a  disregard  for  the  life  of  another.  Against  such,  all 
nature  rises  in  arms  ;  but  it  is  not  so  against  him  who  steals 
my  property.  Natural  law  gives  me  no  right  to  take  away  his 
life,  as,  by  that,  the  horse  he  steals  is  as  much  his  property  as 
mine.  If  then  I  have  any  right,  it  must  be  from  a  compact 
made  between  us,  that  he  who  deprives  the  other  of  his  horse 
shall  die.  But  this  is  a  false  compact ;  because  no  man  has  a 
right  to  barter  his  life  any  more  than  to  take  it  away,  as  it  is 
not  his  own.  And  beside,  the  compact  is  inadequate,  and  would 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  I2I 

be  set  aside  even  in  a  court  of  modern  equity,  as  there  is  a  great 
penalty  for  a  very  trifling  convenience,  since  it  is  far  better  that 
two  men  should  live  than  that  one  man  should  ride.  But  a 
compact  that  is  false  between  two  men,  is  equally  so  between 
a  hundred  or  a  hundred  thousand ;  for  as  ten  million  of  circles 
can  never  make  a  square,  so  the  united  voice  of  myriads  cannot 
lend  the  smallest  foundation  to  falsehood.  It  is  thus  that  rea- 
son speaks,  and  untutored  nature  says  the  same  thing.  Sav- 
ages that  are  directed  by  natural  law  alone,  are  very  tender  of 
the  lives  of  each  other ;  they  seldom  shed  blood  but  to  retaliate 
former  cruelty. 

Our  Saxon  ancestors,  fierce  as  they  were  in  war,  had  but 
few  executions  in  time  of  peace  ;  and  in  all  commencing  govern- 
ments that  have  the  print  of  nature  still  strong  upon  them, 
scarcely  any  crime  is  held  capital. 

It  is  among  the  citizens  of  a  refined  community  that  penal 
laws,  which  are  in  the  hands  of  the  rich,  are  laid  upon  the 
poor.  Government,  \vhile  it  grows  older,  seems  to  acquire  the 
moroseness  of  age ;  and  as  if  our  property  were  become  dearer 
in  proportion  as  it  increased  ;  as  if  the  more  enormous  our 
wealth  the  more  extensive  our  fears,  all  our  possessions  are 
paled  up  with  new  edicts  every  day  and  hung  round  with  gibbets 
to  scare  every  invader. 

I  cannot  tell  whether  it  is  from  the  number  of  our  penal 
laws,  or  the  licentiousness  of  our  people,  that  this  country  should 
show  more  convicts  in  a  year  than  half  the  dominions  of  Europe 
united.  Perhups  it  is  owing  to  both  ;  for  ttuy  mutually  produce 
each  other.  When  by  indiscriminate  pena.  laws,  a  nation  be- 
holds the  same  punishment  affixed  to  d.'.ssimilar-  degrees  of 
guilt,  from  perceiving  no  distinction  in  the  penalty,  the  people 
are  led  to  lose  all  sense  of  distinction  in  the  crime,  and  this 
distinction  is  the  bulwark  of  all  morality  ;  thus  the  multitude 
of  laws  produce  new  vices,  and  new  vices  call  for  fresh  re- 
straints. 

It  were  to  be  wished  then,  that  power,  instead  of  contriving 
new  laws  to  punish  vice :  instead  of  drawing  hard  the  cords  of 
society  till  a  convulsion  comes  to  burst  them  ;  instead  of  cutting 
away  wretches  as  useless  before  we  had  tried  their  utility ;  in- 
stead of  converting  correction  into  vengeance, — it  were  to  be 
wished  that  we  tried  the  restrictive  arts  of  government,  and 
made  law  the  protector,  but  not  the  tyrant  of  the  people.  We 
should  then  find  that  creatures,  whose  souls  are  held  as  dross, 
only  wanted  the  hand  of  a  refiner :  we  should  then  find  that 
creatures,  now  stuck  up  for  long  tortures,  lest  luxury  should 


12  a  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

feel  a  momentary  pang,  might,  if  properly  treated,  serve  to 
sinew  the  state  in  times  of  danger ;  that  as  their  faces  are  like 
ours,  their  hearts  are  so  too  ;  that  few  minds  are  so  base  that 
perseverance  cannot  amend  ;  that  a  man  may  see  his  last  crime 
without  dying  for  it ;  and  that  very  little  blood  will  serve  to 
cement  our  security. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

fiappiness  and  Misery  rather  the  result  of  prudence  than  of  virtue  in  this  life ;  tem- 
poral evils  or  felicities  being  regarded  by  Heaven  as  things  merely  in  themselves 
trifling,  and  unworthy  its  care  in  the  distribution. 

I  HAD  now  been  confined  more  than  a  fortnight,  but  had  not 
since  my  arrival  been  visited  by  my  dear  Olivia,  and  I  greatly 
longed  to  see  her.  Having  communicated  my  wishes  to  my 
wife  the  next  morning  the  poor  girl  entered  my  apartment  lean- 
ing on  her  sister's  arm.  The  change  which  I  saw  in  her  coun- 
tenance struck  me.  The  numberless  graces  that  once  resided 
there  were  now  fled,  and  the  hand  of  death  seemed  to  have 
moulded  every  feature  to  alarm  me.  Her  temples  were  sunk, 
her  forehead  was  tense,  and  a  fatal  paleness  sat  upon  her 
cheek. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  thee,  my  dear,"  cried  I,  "  but  why  this  de- 
jection, Livy  ?  I  hope,  my  love,  you  have  too  great  a  regard 
for  me  to  permit  disappointment  thus  to  undermine  a  life  which 
I  prize  as  my  own.  Be  cheerful,  child,  and  we  yet  may  see 
happier  days." 

"  You  have  ever,  sir,"  replied  she,  "  been  kind  to  me,  and 
it  adds  to  my  pain  that  I  shall  never  have  an  opportunity  of 
sharing  that  happiness  you  promise.  Happiness,  I  fear,  is  no 
longer  reserved  for  me  here  ;  and  I  long  to  be  rid  of  the  place 
where  I  only  have  found  distress.  Indeed,  sir,  I  wish  you 
would  make  a  proper  submission  to  Mr.  Thornhill,  it  may  in 
measure  induce  him  to  pity  you,  and  it  will  give  me  relief  in 
dying." 

"  Never,  child,"  replied  I ;  "  never  will  I  be  brought  to  ac- 
knowledge my  daughter  a  prostitute  ;  for  though  the  world  may 
look  upon  your  offence  with  scorn,  let  it  be  mine  to  regard  it  as 
a  mark  of  credulity,  not  of  guilt. — My  dear,  I  am  no  way 
miserable  in  this  place,  however  dismal  it  may  seem ;  and  be 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD 


123 


assured,  that  while  you  continue  to  bless  me  by  living,  he  shall 
never  have  my  consent  to  make  you  more  wretched  by  marry- 
ing another." 

After  the  departure  of  my  daughter,  my  fellow-prisoner,  who 
was  by  at  this  interview,  sensibly  enough  expostulated  upon  my 
obstinacy  in  refusing  a  submission  which  promised  to  give  me 
freedom.  He  observed,  that  the  rest  of  my  family  were  not  to 
be  sacrificed  to  the  peace  of  one  child  alone,  and  she  the  only 
one  who  had  offended  me.  "  Beside,"  added  he,  "  I  don't 
know  if  it  be  just  thus  to  obstruct  the  union  of  man  and  wife, 
which  you  do  at  present,  by  refusing  to  consent  to  a  match  you 
cannot  hinder,  but  may  render  unhappy." 

"  Sir,"  replied  I,  "  you  are  unacquainted  with  the  man  that 
oppresses  us.  I  am  very  sensible  that  no  submission  I  can 
make  would  procure  me  liberty  even  for  an  hour.  I  am  told 
that  even  in  this  very  room  a  debtor  of  his,  no  later  than  last 
year,  died  for  want.  But  though  my  submission  and  approba- 
tion could  transfer  me  from  hence  to  the  most  beautiful  apart- 
ment he  is  possessed  of,  yet  I  would  grant  neither,  as  some- 
thing whispers  me  it  would  be  giving  a  sanction  to  adultery. 
While  rny  daughter  lives,  no  other  marriage  of  his  shall  ever 
be  legal  in  my  eye.  Were  she  removed,  indeed,  I  should  be 
the  basest  of  men,  from  any  resentment  of  my  own,  to  attempt 
putting  asunder  those  who  wish  for  a  union.  No,  villain  as  he 
is,  I  should  then  wish  him  married,  to  prevent  the  consequences 
of  his  future  debaucheries.  But  now,  should  I  not  be  the  most 
cruel  of  all  fathers  to  sign  an  instrument  which  must  send  my 
child  to  the  grave,  merely  to  avoid  a  prison  myself ;  and  thus 
to  escape  one  pang,  break  my  child's  heart  with  a  thousand  ?  " 

He  acquiesced  in  the  justice  of  this  answer,  but  could  not 
avoid  observing,  that  he  feared  my  daughter's  life  was  already 
too  much  wasted  to  keep  me  long  a  prisoner.  "  However," 
continued  he,  "  though  you  refuse  to  submit  to  the  nephew,  I 
hope  you  have  no  objections  to  laying  your  case  before  the 
uncle,  who  has  the  first  character  in  the  kingdom  for  every 
thing  that  is  just  and  good.  I  would  advise  you  to  send  him  a 
letter  by  the  post,  intimating  all  his  nephew's  ill  usage,  and  my 
life  for  it,  that  in  three  days  you  shall  have  an  answer."  I 
thanked  him  for  the  hint,  and  instantly  set  about  complying  ; 
but  I  wanted  paper,  and  unluckily  all  our  money  had  been  laid 
out  that  morning  in  provisions  ;  however,  he  supplied  me. 

For  the  three  ensuing  days  I  was  in  a  state  of  anxiety  to 
know  what  reception  my  letter  might  meet  with ;  but  in  the 
meantime  was  frequently  solicited  by  my  wife  to  submit  to  any 


124 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


conditions  rather  than  remain  here,  and  every  hour  received 
repeated  accounts  of  the  decline  of  my  daughter's  health.  The 
third  day  and  the  fourth  arrived,  but  I  received  no  answer  to 
my  letter:  the  complaints  of  a  stranger  against  a  favorite 
nephew  were  no  way  likely  to  succeed ;  so  that  these  hopes 
soon  vanished  like  all  my  former.  My  mind,  however,  still 
supported  itself,  though  confinement  and  bad  air  began  to  make 
a  visable  alteration  in  my  health,  and  my  arm  that  had  suffered 
in  the  fire  grew  worse.  My  children,  however,  sat  by  me,  and 
while  I  was  stretched  on  the  straw,  read  to  me  by  turns,  or 
listened  and  wept  at  my  instructions.  But  my  daughter's 
health  declined  faster  than  mine  :  every  message  from  her  con- 
tributed to  increase  my  apprehensions  and  pain.  The  fifth 
morning  after  I  had  written  the  letter  which  was  sent  to  Sir 
William  Thornhill,  I  was  alarmed  with  an  account  that  she  was 
speechless.  Now  it  was  that  confinement  was  truly  painful  to 
me  ;  my  soul  was  bursting  from  its  prison  to  be  near  the  pillow 
of  my  child,  to  comfort,  to  strengthen  her,  and  to  receive  her 
last  wishes,  and  teach  her  soul  the  way  to  heaven  !  Another 
account  came  ;  she  was  expiring,  and  yet  I  was  debarred  the 
small  comfort  of  weeping  by  her.  My  fellow-prisoner  some 
time  after  came  with  the  last  account.  He  bade  me  be 
patient ;  she  was  dead  !  The  next  morning  he  returned,  and 
found  me  with  my  two  little  ones,  now  my  only  companions, 
who  were  using  all  their  innocent  efforts  to  comfort  me.  They 
entreated  to  read  to  me,  and  bade  me  not  to  cry,  for  I  was  too 
old  to  weep.  "And  is  not  my  sister  an  angel  now,  papa?" 
cried  the  eldest ;  "  and  why  then  are  you  sorry  for  her  ?  I 
wish  I  were  an  angel  out  of  this  frightful  place,  if  my  papa 
were  with  me."  "  Yes,"  added  my  youngest  darling,  "  Heaven, 
where  my  sister  is,  is  a  finer  place  than  this,  and  there  are 
none  but  good  people  there,  and  the  people  here  are  very  bad." 

Mr.  Jenkinson  interrupted  their  harmless  prattle  by  observ- 
ing, that,  now  my  daughter  was  no  more,  I  should  seriously 
think  of  -the  rest  of  my  family,  and  attempt  to  save  my  own 
life,  which  was  every  day  declining  for  want  of  necessaries  and 
wholesome  air.  He  added,  that  it  was  now  incumbent  on  me 
to  sacrifice  any  pride  or  resentment  of  my  own  to  the  welfare 
of  those  who  depended  on  me  for  support ;  and  that  I  was 
now,  both  by  reason  and  justice,  obliged  to  try  to  reconcile  my 
landlord. 

"  Heaven  be  praised,"  replied  I,  "  there  is  no  pride  left 
me  now  ;  I  should  detest  my  own  heart  if  I  saw  either  pride  or 
resentment  lurking  there,,  Oft  the  contrary,  as  my  oppressor 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD  j2$ 

has  been  once  my  parishioner,  I  hope  one  day  to  present  him 
up  an  unpolluted  soul  at  the  eternal  tribunal.  No,  sir,  I  have 
no  resentment  now,  and  though  he  has  taken  from  me  what  I 
held  dearer  than  all  his  treasures,  though  he  has  wrung  my 
heart, — for  I  am  sick  almost  to  fainting,  very  sick,  my  fellow- 
prisoner, — yet  that  shall  never  inspire  me  with  vengeance.  I 
am  now  willing  to  approve  his  marriage  ;  and  if  this  submission 
can  do  him  any  pleasure,  let  him  know,  that  if  I  have  done 
him  any  injury  I  am  sorry  for  it." 

Mr.  Jenkinson  took  pen  and  ink,  and  wrote  down  my  sub- 
mission nearly  as  I  have  expressed  it,  to  which  I  signed  my 
name.  My  son  was  employed  to  carry  the  letter  to  Mr.  Thorn- 
hill,  who  was  then  at  his  seat  in  the  country.  He  went,  and  in 
about  six  hours  returned  with  a  verbal  answer.  He  had  some 
difficulty,  he  said,  to  get  a  sight  of  his  landlord,  as  the  servants 
were  insolent  and  suspicious ;  but  he  accidently  saw  him  as  he 
was  going  out  upon  business,  preparing  for  his  marriage,  which 
was  to  be  in  three  days.  He  continued  to  inform  us,  that  he 
stepped  up  in  the  humblest  manner  and  delivered  the  letter, 
which,  when  Mr.  Thornhill  had  read,  he  said  that  all  submis- 
sion was  now  too  late  and  unnecessary ;  that  he  had  heard  of 
our  application  to  his  uncle,  which  met  with  the  contempt  it 
had  deserved  ;  and  as  for  the  rest,  that  all  future  applications 
should  be  directed  to  his  attorney,  not  to  him.  He  observed, 
however,  that  as  he  had  a  very  good  opinion  of  the  discretion 
of  the  two  young  ladies  they  might  have  been  the  most  agree- 
able intercessors. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  I  to  my  fellow-prisoner,  "  you  now  dis- 
cover the  temper  of  the  man  that  oppresses  me.  He  can  at 
once  be  facetious  and  cruel ;  but  let  him  use  me  as  he  will,  I 
shall  soon  be  free,  in  spite  of  all  his  bolts  to  restrain  me.  I 
am  now  drawing  towards  an  abode  that  looks  brighter  as  I  ap- 
proach it ;  this  expectation  cheers  my  afflictions,  and  though  I 
leave  a  helpless  family  of  orphans  behind  me,  yet  they  will  not 
be  utterly  forsaken,  some  friend  perhaps  will  be  found  to  assist 
them  for  the  sake  of  their  poor  father,  and  some  may  charitably 
relieve  them  for  the  sake  of  their  Heavenly  Father." 

Just  as  I  spoke,  my  wife,  whom  I  had  not  seen  that  day 
before,  appeared  with  looks  of  terror,  and  making  efforts,  but 
unable  to  speak.  "  Why,  my  love,"  cried  I,  "  why  will  you 
thus  increase  my  afflictions  by  your  own  ?  What  though  no 
submission  can  turn  our  severe  master,  though  he  has  doomed 
me  to  die  in  this  place  of  wretchedness,  and  though  we  have 
lost  a  darling  child,  yet  still  you  will  find  comfort  in  your  other 


J26  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

children  when  I  shall  be  no  more."  "  We  have  indeed  lost," 
returned  she,  "a  darling  child.  My  Sophia,  my  dearest,  is 
gone  ;  snatched  from  us,  carried  off  by  ruffians !  "  "  How, 
madam,"  cried  my  fellow-prisoner,  "  Miss  Sophia  carried  off 
by  villains  !  sure  it  cannot  be." 

She  could  only  answer  with  a  fixed  look  and  a  flood  of 
tears.  But  one  of  the  prisoner's  wives  who  was  present,  and 
came  in  with  her,  gave  us  a  more  distinct  account :  she  in- 
formed us,  that  as  my  wife,  my  daughter,  and  herself  were  tak- 
ing a  walk 'together  on  the  great  road,  a  little  way  out  of  the 
village,  a  post-chaise  and  a  pair  drove  up  to  them,  and  instantly 
stopped.  Upon  which  a  well-dressed  man,  but  not  Mr.  Thorn- 
hill,  stepping  out,  clasped  my  daughter  round  the  waist,  and 
forcing  her  in,  bid  the  postilion  drive  on,  so  that  they  were 
out  of  sight  in  a  moment. 

"  Now,"  cried  I,  "  the  sum  of  my  miseries  is  made  up,  nor 
is  it  in  the  power  of  anything  on  earth  to  give  me  another  pang. 
What !  not  one  left !  not  to  leave  me  one  ! — The  monster  ! — 
The  child  that  was  next  my  heart !  she  had  the  beauty  of  an 
angel,  and  almost  the  wisdom  of  an  angel.  But  support  that 
woman,  nor  let  her  fall. — Not  to  leave  me  one  !  " 

"  Alas  !  my  husband,"  said  my  wife,  "  you  seem  to  want 
comfort  even  more  than  I.  Our  distresses  are  great ;  but  I 
could  bear  this  and  more,  if  I  saw  you  but  easy.  They  may  take 
away  my  children  and  all  the  world,  if  they  leave  me  but  you." 

My  son,  who  was  present,  endeavored  to  moderate  her 
grief ;  he  bade  us  take  comfort,  for  he  hoped  that  we  might 
still  have  reason  to  be  thankful. — "  My  child,"  cried  I,  "  look 
round  the  world,  and  see  if  there  be  any  happiness  left  me  now. 
Is  not  every  ray  of  comfort  shut  out,  while  all  our  bright  pros- 
pects only  lie  beyond  the  grave?" — "My  dear  father,"  re- 
turned he,  "  I  hope  there  is  still  something  that  will  give  you 
an  interval  of  satisfaction  ;  for  I  have  a  letter  from  my  brother 
George." — "  What  of  him,  child  ?  "  interrupted  I,  "  does  he 
Jcnow  our  misery  ?  I  hope  my  boy  is  exempt  from  any  part  of 
what  his  wretched  family  suffers  ?  " — "  Yes,  sir,"  returned  he, 
"  he  is  perfectly  gay,  cheerful,  and  happy.  His  letter  brings 
nothing  but  good  news  ;  he  is  the  favorite  of  his  colonel,  who 
promises  to  procure  him  the  very  next  lieutenancy  that  be- 
comes vacant." 

"  And  are  you  sure  of  all  this  ?  "  cried  my  wife  :  "  are 
you  sure  that  nothing  ill  has  befallen  my  boy  ? " — "  Noth- 
ing indeed,  madam,"  returned  my  son  ;  "  you  shall  see 
the  letter,  which  will  give  you  the  highest  pleasure ;  and  if 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


127 


anything  can  procure  you  comfort,  I  am  sure  that  will." — 
"  But  are  you  sure,"  still  repeated  she,  "  that  the  letter  is 
from  himself,  and  that  he  is  really  so  happy  ? "  — "  Yes, 
madam,"  replied  he,  "  it  is  certainly  his,  and  he  will  one 
day  be  the  credit  and  support  of  our  family." — "  Then  I 
thank  Providence,"  cried  she  "  that  my  last  letter  to  him  has 
miscarried. — Yes,  my  dear,"  continued  she,  turning  to  me, 
"  I  will  now  confess,  that  though  the  hand  of  Heaven  is 
sore  upon  us  in  other  instances,  it  has  been  favorable  here. 
By  the  last  letter  I  wrote  my  son,  which  was  in  the  bitterness 
of  anger,  I  desired  him,  upon  his  mother's  blessing,  and  if  he 
had  the  heart  of  a  man,  to  see  justice  done  his  father  and  sis- 
ter, and  avenge  our  cause.  But  thanks  be  to  Him  that  directs 
all  things,  it  has  miscarried,  and  I  am  at  rest."  "Woman," 
cried  I,  "  thou  hast  done  very  ill,  and  at  another  time  my  re- 
proaches might  have  been  more  severe.  Oh  !  what  a  tremen- 
dous gulf  hast  thou  escaped,  that  would  have  buried  both  thee 
and  him  in  endless  ruin.  Providence  indeed  has  here  been 
kinder  to  us  than  we  to  ourselves.  It  has  reserved  that  son  to 
be  the  father  and  protector  of  my  children  when  I  shall  be 
away.  How  unjustly  did  I  complain  of  being  stripped  of  every 
comfort,  when  still  I  hear  that  he  is  happy,  and  insensible  of 
our  afflictions ;  still  kept  in  reserve  to  support  his  widowed 
mother,  and  to  protect  his  brothers  and  sisters.  But  what 
sisters  has  he  left  ?  he  has  no  sisters  now  ;  they  are  all  gone, 
robbed  from  me,  and  I  am  undone." — "  Father,"  interrupted 
my  son,  "  I  beg  you  will  give  me  leave  to  read  this  letter,  I 
know  it  will  please  you."  Upon  which,  with  my  permission,  he 
read  as  follows  : — 

"  HONORED  SIR, 

I  HAVE  called  off  my  imagination  a  few  moments  from  the 
pleasures  that  surround  me,  to  fix  it  upon  objects  that  are 
still  more  pleasing,  the  dear  little  fireside  at  home.  My  fancy 
draws  that  harmless  group  listening  to  every  line  of  this  with 
great  composure.  I  view  those  faces  with  delight  which  never 
felt  the  deforming  hand  of  ambition  or  distress  !  But  what- 
ever your  happiness  may  be  at  home,  lam  sure  it  will  be  some 
addition  to  it  to  hear,  that  I  am  perfectly  pleased  with  my 
situation,  and  every  way  happy  here. 

"  Our  regiment  is  countermanded,  and  is  not  to  leave  the 
kingdom  :  the  colonel,  who  professes  himself  my  friend,  takes 
me  with  him  to  all  companies  where  he  is  acquainted,  and  after 
my  first  visit  I  generally  find  myself  received  with  increasecj 


128  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

respect  upon  repeating  it.  I  danced  last  night  with  Lady 
G ,  and  could  I  forget  you  know  whom,  I  might  be  per- 
haps successful.  But  it  is  my  fate  still  to  remember  others, 
while  I  am  myself  forgotten  by  most  of  my  absent  friends ;  and 
in  this  number,  I  fear,  sir,  that  I  must  consider  you  ;  for  I 
have  long  expected  the  pleasure  of  a  letter  from  home,  to  no 
purpose.  Olivia  and  Sophia  too  promised  to  write,  but  seem 
to  have  forgotten  me.  Tell  them  they  are  two  arrant  little 
baggages,  and  that  I  am  this  moment  in  a  most  violent  passion 
with  them  :  yet  still  I  know  not  how,  though  I  want  to  bluster 
a  little,  my  heart  is  respondent  only  to  softer  emotions.  Then 
tell  them,  sir,  that  after  all  I  love  them  affectionately,  and  be 
assured  of  my  ever  remaining  Your  dutiful  son." 

"  In  all  our  miseries,"  cried  I,  "  what  thanks  have  we  not 
to  return,  that  one  at  least  of  our  family  is  exempted  from  what 
we  suffer.  Heaven  be  his  guard,  and  keep  my  boy  thus  happy, 
to  be  the  supporter  of  his  widowed  mother,  and  the  father  of 
these  two  babes,  which  is  all  the  patrimony  I  can  now  bequeath 
him.  May  he  keep  their  innocence  from  the  temptations  of 
want,  and  be  their  conductor  in  the  paths  of  honor  !  "  I  had 
scarcely  said  these  words,  when  a  noise  like  that  of  a  tumult 
seemed  to  proceed  from  the  prison  below ;  it  died  away  soon 
after,  and  a  clanking  of  fetters  was  heard  along  the  passage 
that  led  to  my  apartment.  The  keeper  of  the  prison  entered, 
holding  a  man  all  bloody,  wounded,  and  fettered  with  the 
heaviest  irons.  I  looked  with  compassion  on  the  wretch  as  he 
approached  me,  but  with  horror  when  I  found  it  was  my  own 
son. — "  My  George !  my  George  !  and  do  I  behold  thee  thus  ? 
wounded — fettered  !  Is  this  thy  happiness  ?  is  this  the  manner 
you  return  to  me  ?  O  that  this  sight  could  break  my  heart  at 
once,  and  let  me  die !  " 

"  Where,  sir,  is  your  fortitude  ?  "  returned  my  son  with  an 
intrepid  voice. .  "  I  must  suffer ;  my  life  is  forfeited,  and  let 
them  take  it." 

I  tried  to  restrain  my  passions  for  a  few  minutes  in  silence, 
but  I  thought  I  should  have  died  with  the  effort. — "  O  my  boy, 
my  heart  weeps  to  behold  thee  thus ;  and  I  cannot,  cannot  help 
it.  In  the  moment  that  I  thought  thee  blessed,  and  prayed  for 
thy  safety,  to  behold  thee  thus  again  !  Chained,  wounded ! 
And  yet  the  death  of  the  youthful  is  happy.  But  I  am  old,  a 
very  old  man,  and  have  lived  to  see  this  day  !  To  see  my 
children  all  untimely  falling  about  me,  while  I  continue  a 
wretched  survivor  in  the  midst  of  ruin !  May  all  the  curses 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


129 


that  ever  sunk  a  soul  fall  heavy  upon  the  murderer  of  my 
children !  May  he.  live,  like  me,  to  see — " 

"  Hold,  sir,"  replied  my  son,  "  or  I  shall  blush  for  thee. 
How,  sir,  forgetful  of  your  age,  your  holy  calling,  thus  to  arro- 
gate the  justice  of  Heaven,  and  fling  those  curses  upward  that 
must  soon  descend  to  crush  thy  own  gray  head  with  destruc- 
tion !  No,  sir,  let  it  be  your  care  now  to  fit  me  for  that  vile 
death  I  must  shortly  suffer ;  to  arm  me  with  hope  and  resolu- 
tion ;  to  give  me  courage  to  drink  of  that  bitterness  which 
must  shortly  be  my  portion." 

"  My  child,  you  must  not  die  :  I  am  sure  no  offence  of 
thine  can  deserve  so  vile  a  punishment.  My  George  could 
never  be  guilty  of  any  crime  to  make  his  ancestors  ashamed  of 
him." 

"  Mine,  sir,"  returned  my  son,  "  is,  I  fear,  an  unpardonable 
one.  When  I  received  my  mother's  letter  from  home,  I  im- 
mediately came  down,  determined  to  punish  the  betrayer  of 
our  honor,  and  sent  him  an  order  to  meet  me,  which  he  an- 
swered, not  in  person,  but  by  despatching  four  of  his  domestics 
to  seize  me.  I  wounded  one  who  first  assaulted  me,  and  I 
fear  desperately  ;  but  the  rest  made  me  their  prisoner.  The 
coward  is  determined  to  put  the  law  in  execution  against  me ; 
the  proofs  are  undeniable  :  I  have  sent  a  challenge,  and  as  I 
am  the  first  transgressor  upon  the  statute,  I  see  no  hopes  of 
pardon.  But  you  have  often  charmed  me  with  your  lessons  of 
fortitude ;  let  me  now,  sir,  find  them  in  your  example." 

".And,  my  son,  you  shall  find  them.  I  am  now  raised 
above  this  world,  and  all  the  pleasures  it  can  produce.  From 
this  moment  I  break  from  my  heart  all  the  ties  that  held  it 
down  to  earth,  and  will  prepare  to  fit  us  both  for  eternity. 
Yes,  my  son,  I  will  point  out  the  way,  and  my  soul  shall  guide 
yours  in  the  ascent,  for  we  will  take  our  flight  together.  I  now 
see  and  am  convinced  you  can  expect  no  pardon  here ;  and  I 
can  only  exhort  you  to  seek  it  at  that  greatest  tribunal  where 
we  both  shall  shortly  answer.  But  let  us  not  be  niggardly 
in  our  exhortation,  but  let  all  our  fellow-prisoners  have  a  share. 
Good  jailer,  let  them  be  permitted  to  stand  here  while  I  attempt 
to  improve  them." — Thus  saying,  I  made  an  effort  to  rise  from 
my  straw,  but  wanted  strength,  and  was  able  only  to  recline 
against  the  wall.  The  prisoners  assembled  themselves  accord- 
ing to  my  directions,  for  they  loved  to  hear  my  counsel ;  my 
son  and  his  mother  supported  me  on  either  side  ;  I  looked  and 
saw  that  none  were  wanting,  and  then  addresed  them  with  the 
following  exhortation. 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

The  equal  dealings  of  Providence  demonstrated  with  regard  to  the  happy  and  the 
miserable  here  below. — That  from  the  nature  of  pleasure  and  pain,  the  wretched 
must  be  repaid  the  balance  of  their  sufferings  in  the  life  hereafter. 

MY  friends,  my  children,  and  my  fellow-sufferers,  when  I 
reflect  on  the  distribution  of  good  and  evil  here  below,  I  find 
that  much  has  been  given  man  to  enjoy,  yet  still  more  to 
suffer.  Though  we  should  examine  the  whole  world,  we  shall 
not  find  one  man  so  happy  as  to  have  nothing  left  to  wish  for ; 
but  we  daily  see  thousands,  who,  by  suicide,  show  us  they  have 
nothing  left  to  hope.  In  this  life,  then,  it  appears  that  we 
cannot  be  entirely  blessed,  but  yet  we  may  be  completely  mis- 
erable. 

Why  man  should  thus  feel  pain ;  why  our  wretchedness 
should  be  requisite  in  the  formation  of  universal  felicity  ;  why, 
when  all  other  systems  are  made  perfect  by  the  perfection  of 
their  subordinate  parts,  the  great  system  should  require  for  its 
perfection  parts  that  are  not  only  subordinate  to  others,  but 
imperfect  in  themselves ;  these  are  questions  that  never  can  be 
explained,  and  might  be  useless  if  known.  On  this  subject, 
Providence  has  thought  fit  to  elude  our  curiosity,  satisfied  with 
granting  us  motives  to  consolation. 

In  this  situation  man  has  called  in  the  friendly  assistance 
of  philosophy,  and  Heaven,  seeing  the  incapacity  of  that  to 
console  him,  has  given  him  the  aid  of  religion.  The  consola- 
tions of  philosophy  are  very  amusing,  but  often  fallacious.  It 
tells  us  that  life  is  filled  with  comforts,  if  we  will  but  enjoy 
them :  and  on  the  other  hand,  that  though  we  unavoidably 
have  miseries  here,  life  is  short,  and  they  will  soon  be  over. 
Thus  do  these  consolations  destroy  each  other :  for,  if  life  is 
a  place  of  comfort  its  shortness  must  be  misery,  and  if  it  be 
long,  our  griefs  are  protracted.  Thus  philosophy  is  weak  ;  but 
religion  comforts  in  a  higher  strain.  Man  is  here,  it  tells  us, 
fitting  up  his  mind,  and  preparing  it  for  another  abode.  When 
the  good  man  leaves  the  body  and  is  all  a  glorious  mind,  he 
will  find  he  has  been  making  himself  a  heaven  of  happiness 
here  ;  while  the  wretch  that  has  been  maimed  and  contaminated 
by  his  vices,  shrinks  from  his  body  with  terror,  and  finds  that 
he  has  anticipated  the  vengeance  of  Heaven.  To  religion 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  !3! 

then  we  must  hold  in  every  circumstance  of  life  for  our  truest 
comfort ;  for  if  already  we  are  happy,  it  is  a  pleasure  to  think 
we  can  make  that  happiness  unending  ;  and  if  we  are  miserable, 
it  is  very  consoling  to  think  that  there  is  a  place  of  rest.  Thus, 
to  the  fortunate,  religion  holds  out  a  continuance  of  bliss ;  to 
the  wretched  a  change  from  pain. 

But  though  religion  is  very  kind  to  all  men,  it  has  promised 
peculiar  rewards  to  the  unhappy:  the  sick,  the  naked,  the 
houseless,  the  heavy-laden,  and  the  prisoner,  have  ever  most 
frequent  promises  in  our  sacred  law.  The  author  of  our  relig- 
ion everywhere  professes  himself  the  wretch's  friend,  and, 
unlike  the  false  ones  of  this  world,  bestows  all  his  caresses 
upon  the  forlorn.  The  unthinking  have  censured  this  as  par- 
tiality, as  a  preference  without  merit  to  deserve  it.  But  they 
never  reflect,  that  it  is  not  in  the  power  even  of  Heaven  itself 
to  make  the  offer  of  unceasing  felicity  as  great  a  gift  to  the 
happy  as  to  the  miserable.  To  the  first,  eternity  is  but  a  single 
blessing,  since  at  most  it  but  increases  what  they  already  pos- 
sess. To  the  latter,  it  is  but  a  double  advantage ;  for  it  dimin- 
ishes their  pain  here,  and  rewards  them  with  heavenly  bliss 
hereafter. 

But  Providence  is  in  another  respect  kinder  to  the  poor 
than  the  rich ;  for  as  it  thus  makes  the  life  after  death  more 
desirable,  so  it  smooths  the  passage  there.  The  wretched 
have  had  a  long  familiarity  with  every  face  of  terror.  The 
man  of  sorrows  lays  himself  quietly  down,  without  possessions 
to  regret,  and  but  few  ties  to  stop  his  departure :  he  feels  only 
nature's  pang  in  the  final  separation,  and  this  is  no  way  greater 
than  he  has  often  fainted  under  before  ;  for  after  a  certain  de- 
gree of  pain,  every  new  breach  that  death  opens  in  the  consti- 
tution, nature  kindly  covers  with  insensibility. 

Thus  Providence  has  given  the  wretched  two  advantages 
over  the  happy  in  this  life — greater  felicity  in  dying,  and  in 
heaven  all  that  superiority  of  pleasure  which  arises  from  con- 
trasted enjoyment.  And  this  superiority,  my  friends,  is  no 
small  advantage,  and  seems  to  be  one  of  the  pleasures  of  the 
poor  man  in  the  parable  ;  for  though  he  was  already  in  Heaven, 
and  felt  all  the  raptures  it  could  give,  yet  it  was  mentioned  as 
an  addition  to  his  happiness,  that  he  had  once  been  wretched, 
and  now  was  comforted  ;  that  he  had  known  what  it  was  to  be 
miserable,  and  now  felt  what  it  was  to  be  happy. 

Thus,  my  friends,  you  see  religion  does  what  philosophy 
could  never  do :  it  shows  the  equal  dealings  of  Heaven  to  the 
happy  and  the  unhappy,  and  levels  all  human  enjoyments  to 


I32 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFJELD. 


nearly  the  same  standard.  It  gives  to  both  the  rich  and  poor 
the  same  happiness  hereafter,  and  equal  hopes  to  aspire  after 
it ;  but  if  the  rich  have  the  advantage  of  enjoying  pleasure 
here,  the  poor  have  the  endless  satisfaction  of  knowing  what 
it  was  once  to  be  miserable,  when  crowned  with  endless  felicity 
hereafter ;  and  even  though  this  should  be  called  a  small  ad- 
vantage, yet  being  an  eternal  one,  it  must  make  up  by  duration 
what  the  temporal  happiness  of  the  great  may  have  exceeded 
by  intenseness. 

These  are,  therefore,  the  consolations  which  the  wretched 
have  peculiar  to  themselves,  and  in  which  they  are  above  the 
rest  of  mankind  ;  in  other  respects,  they  are  below  them. 
They  who  would  know  the  miseries  of  the  poor,  must  see  life 
and  endure  it.  To  declaim  on  the  temporal  advantages  they 
enjoy,  is  only  repeating  what  none  either  believe  or  practice. 
The  men  who  have  the  necessaries  of  living  are  not  poor,  and 
they  who  want  them  must  be  miserable.  Yes,  my  friends,  we 
must  be  miserable.  No  vain  efforts  of  a  refined  imagination 
can  soothe  the  wants  of  nature,  can  give  elastic  sweetness  to 
the  dark  vapor  of  a  dungeon,  or  ease  the  throbbings  of  a  broken 
heart.  Let  the  philosopher  from  his  couch  of  softness  tell  us 
that  we  can  resist  all  these :  alas !  the  effort  by  which  we  resist 
them  is  still  the  greatest  pain.  Death  is  slight,  and  any  man 
may  sustain  it ;  but  torments  are  dreadful,  and  these  no  man 
can  endure. 

To  us  then,  my  friends,  the  promises  of  happiness  in  heaven 
should  be  peculiarly  dear;  for  if  our  reward  be  in  this  life 
alone,  we  are  then  indeed  of  all  men  the  most  miserable. 
When  I  look  round  these  gloomy  walls,  made  to  terrify  as  well 
as  to  confine  us ;  this  light,  that  only  serves  to  show  the  hor- 
rors of  thd  place ;  those  shackles,  that  tyranny  has  imposed 
or  crime  made  necessary ;  when  I  survey  these  emaciated  looks, 
and  hear  those  groans,  O  !  my  friends,  what  a  glorious  exchange 
would  heaven  be  for  these.  To  fly  through  regions  unconfined 
as  air,  to  bask  in  the  sunshine  of  eternal  bliss,  to  carol  over- 
endless  hymns  of  praise,  to  have  no  master  to  threaten  or  in- 
sult us,  but  the  form  of  Goodness  himself  forever  in  our  eyes ! 
when  I  thuik  of  these  things,  Death  becomes  the  messenger 
of  very  glad  tidings ;  when  I  think  of  these  things,  his  sharpest 
arrow  becomes  the  staff  of  my  support ;  when  I  think  of  these 
things,  what  is  there  in  life  worth  having  ?  when  I  think  of 
these  things,  what  is  there  that  should  not  be  spurned  away  ? 
Kings  in  their  palaces  should  groan  for  such  advantages  ;  but 
we,  humbled  as  we  are,  should  yearn  for  them. 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


133 


And  shall  these  things  be  ours  ?  Ours  they  will  certainly  be 
if  we  but  try  for  them  ;  and  what  is  a  comfort,  we  are  shut  out 
from  many  temptations  that  would  retard  our  pursuit.  Only  let 
us  try  for  "them,  and  they  will  certainly  be  ours ;  and  what  is  still 
a  comfort,  shortly  too  ;  for  if  we  look  back  on  a  past  life,  it  ap- 
pears but  a  very  short  span,  and  whatever  we  may  think  of  the 
rest  of  life,  it  will  yet  be  found  of  less  duration  ;  as  we  grow 
older,  the  days  seem  to  grow  shorter,  and  our  intimacy  with 
time  ever  lessens  the  perception  of  his  stay.  Then  let  us  take 
comfort  now,  for  we  shall  soon  be  at  our  journey's  end ;  we 
shall  soon  lay  down  the  heavy  burden  laid  by  Heaven  upon  us ; 
and  though  Death,  the  only  friend  of  the  wretched,  for  a  little 
while  mocks  the  weary  traveller  with  the  view,  and  like  his  hor- 
izon still  flies  before  him,  yet  the  time  will  certainly  and  shortly 
come,  when  we  shall  cease  from  our  toil ;  when  the  luxurious 
great  ones  of  the  world  shall  no  more  tread  us  to  the  earth ; 
when  we  shall  think  with  pleasure  of  our  sufferings  below ; 
when  we  shall  be  surrounded  with  all  our  friends,  or  such  as 
deserved  our  friendship  ;  when  our  bliss  shall  be  unutterable, 
and  still,  to  crown  all,  unending. 


CHAPTER  XXX, 

Happier  prospects  begin  to  appear. — Let  us  be  inflexible,  and  fortune  will  at  last 
change  in  our  favor. 

WHEN  I  had  thus  finished,  and  my  audience  was  retired, 
the  jailer,  who  was  one  of  the  most  humane  of  his  profession, 
hoped  I  would  not  be  displeased,  as  what  he  did  was  but  his 
duty,  observing,  that  he  must  be  obliged  to  remove  my  son  into 
a  stronger  cell,  but  that  he  should  be  permitted  to  revisit  me 
every  morning.  I  thanked  him  for  his  clemency,  and  grasping 
my  boy's  hand,  bade  him  farewell,  and  be  mindful  of  the  great 
duty  that  was  before  him. 

I  again  therefore  laid  me  down,  and  one  of  my  little  ones 
sat  by  my  bedside  reading,  when  Mr.  Jenkinson  entering,  in- 
formed me  that  there  was  news  of  my  daughter ;  for  that  she 
was  seen  by  a  person  about  two  hours  before  in  a  strange  gen- 
tleman's company,  and  that  they  had  stopped  at  a  neighboring 
village  for  refreshment,  and  seemed  as  if  returning  to  town. 


134 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD, 


He  had  scarcely  delivered  this  news  when  the  jailer  came  with 
looks  of  haste  and  pleasure  to  inform  me,  that  my  daughter  was 
found.  Moses  came  running  in  a  moment  after,  crying  out 
that  his  sister  Sophy  was  below,  and  coming  up  with  our  old 
friend  Mr.  Burchell. 

Just  as  he  delivered  this  news,  my  dearest  girl  entered,  and 
with  looks  almost  wild  with  pleasure,  ran  to  kiss  me  in  a  trans- 
port of  affection.  Her  mother's  tears  and  silence  also  showed 
her  pleasure — "  Here,  papa,"  cried  the  charming  girl,  "  here  is 
the  brave  man  to  whom  I  owe  my  delivery  ;  to  this  gentleman's 

intrepidity  I  am  indebted  for  my  happiness  and  safety 

A  kiss  from  Mr.  Burchell,  whose  pleasure  seemed  even  greater 
than  hers,  interrupted  what  she  was  going  to  add. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Burchell,"  cried  I,  "  this  is  but  a  wretched  habi- 
tation you  now  find  us  in ;  and  we  are  now  very  different 
from  what  you  last  saw  us.  You  were  ever  our  friend :  we  have 
long  discovered  our  errors  with  regard  to  you,  and  repent  of 
our  ingratitude.  After  the  vile  usage  you  then  received  at  my 
hands,  I  am  almost  ashamed  to  behold  your  face ;  yet  I  hope 
you'll  forgive  me,  as  I  was  deceived  by  a  base,  ungenerous 
wretch,  who  under  the  mask  of  friendship  has  undone  me." 

"  It  is  impossible,"  replied  Mr.  Burchell,  "  that  I  should 
forgive  you,  as  you  never  deserved  my  resentment.  I  partly 
saw  your  delusion  then,  and  as  it  was  out  of  my  power  to 
restrain,  I  could  only  pity  it." 

"  It  was  ever  my  conjecture,"  cried  I,  "  that  your  mind  was 
noble,  but  now  I  find  it  so.  But  tell  me,  my  dear  child,  how 
thou  hast  been  relieved,  or  who  the  ruffians  were  who  carried 
thee  away." 

"  Indeed,  sir,"  replied  she,  "  as  to  the  villain  who  carried 
me  off,  I  am  yet  ignorant.  For,  as  my  mamma  and  I  were 
walking  out,  he  came  up  behind  us,  and  almost  before  I  could 
call  for  help,  forced  me  into  the  post-chaise,  and  in  an  instant 
the  horses  drove  away.  I  met  several  on  the  road  to  whom  I 
cried  out  for  assistance  but  they  disregarded  my  entreaties.  In 
the  meantime  the  ruffian  himself  used  every  art  to  hinder  me 
from  crying  out:  he  flattered  and  threatened  by  turns,  and 
swore  that  if  I  continued  but  silent  he  intended  no  harm.  In 
the  meantime  I  had  broken  the  canvas  that  he  had  drawn  up, 
and  whom  should  I  perceive  at  some  distance  but  your  old 
friend  Mr.  Burchell,  walking  along  with  his  usual  swiftness, 
with  the  great  stick  for  which  we  so  much  used  to  ridicule  him. 
As  soon  as  he  came  within  hearing,  I  called  out  to  him  by 
name,  and  entreated  his  help.  I  repeated  my  exclamation  sev- 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFTELD. 


'35 


eral  times,  upon  which,  with  a  very  loud  voice,  he  bid  the  pos- 
tilion stop  ;  but  the  boy  took  no  notice,  but  drove  on  with  still 
greater  speed.  I  now  thought  he  could  never  overtake  us, 
when,  in  less  than  a  minute,  I  saw  Mr.  Burchell  come  running 
up  by  the  side  of  the  horses,  and  with  one  blow  knock  the  pos- 
tilion to  the  ground.  The  horses,  when  he  was  fallen,  soon 
stopped  of  themselves,  and  the  ruffian  stepping  out,  with  oaths 
and  menaces  drew  his  sword,  and  ordered  him  at  his  peril  to 
retire  ;  but  Mr.  Burchell  running  up  shivered  his  sword  to 
pieces,  and  then  pursued  him  for  near  a  quarter  of  a  mile  ;  but 
he  made  his  escape.  I  was  at  this  time  come  out  myself,  willing 
to  assist  my  deliverer ;  but  he  soon  returned  to  me  in  triumph. 
The  postilion,  who  was  recovered,  was  going  to  make  his  es- 
cape too ;  but  Mr.  Burchell  ordered  him  at  his  peril  to  mount 
again  and  drive  back  to  town.  Finding  it  impossible  to  resist 
he  reluctantly  complied,  though  the  wound  he  had  received 
seemed  to  me  at  least  to  be  dangerous.  He  continued  to  com- 
plain of  the  pain  as  we  drove  along,  so  that  he  at  last  excited 
Mr.  Burchell  s  compassion,  who  at  my  request  exchanged  him 
for  another,  at  an  inn  where  we  called  on  our  return." 

"Welcome,  then,"  cried  I,  "my  child!  and  thou,  her  gal- 
lant deliverer,  a  thousand  welcomes  !  Though  our  cheer  is  but 
wretched,  yet  our  hearts  are  ready  to  receive  you.  And  now, 
Mr.  Burchell,  as  you  have  delivered  my  girl,  if  you  think  she  is 
a  recompense,  she  is  yours ;  if  you  can  stoop  to  an  alliance 
with  a  family  so  poor  as  mine,  take  her  ;  obtain  her  consent,  as 
I  know  you  have  her  heart,  and  you  have  mine.  And  let  me 
tell  you,  sir,  that  I  give  you  no  small  treasure :  she  has  been 
celebrated  for  beauty,  it  is  true,  but  that  is  not  my  meaning ;  I 
give  you  up  a  treasure  in  her  mind." 

"  But  I  suppose,  sir,"  cried  Mr.  Burchell,  "  that  you  are 
apprized  of  my  circumstances,  and  of  my  incapacity  to  support 
her  as  she  deserves." 

"  If  your  present  objection,"  replied  I,  "  be  meant  as  an 
evasion  to  my  offer,  I  desist :  but  I  know  no  man  so  worthy  to 
deserve  her  as  you  ;  and  if  I  could  give  her  thousands,  and 
thousands  sought  her  from  me.  yet  my  honest  brave  Burchell 
should  be  my  dearest  choice." 

To  all  this  his  silence  alone  seemed  to  give  a  mortifying  re- 
lusal,  and  without  the  least  reply  to  my  offer,  he  demanded 
if 'we  could  not  be  furnished  with  refreshments  from  the  next 
inn  ;  to  which  being  answered  in  the  affirmative,  he  ordered 
them  to  send  in  the  best  dinner  that  could  be  provided  upon 
such  short  notice.  He  bespoke  also  a  dozen  of  their  best  wine 


136  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

and  some  cordials  for  me  :  adding  with  a  smile,  that  he  would 
stretch  a  little  for  once,  and  though  in  a  prison,  asserted  he  was 
never  better  disposed  to  be  merry.  The  waiter  soon  made  his 
appearance  with  preparations  for  dinner;  a  table  was  lent  us 
by  the  jailer,  who  seemed  remarkably  assiduous  ;  the  wine 
was  disposed  in  order,  and  two  very  well-dressed  dishes  were 
brought  in. 

My  daughter  had  not  yet  heard  of  her  poor  brother's  mel- 
ancholy situation,  and  we  all  seemed  unwilling  to  damp  her 
cheerfulness  by  the  relation.  But  it  was  in  vain  that  I  at- 
tempted to  appear  cheerful,  the  circumstances  of  my  unfortunate 
son  broke  through  all  efforts  to  dissemble  ;  so  that  I  was  at  last 
obliged  to  damp  our  mirth,  by  relating  his  misfortunes,  and 
wishing  that  he  might  be  permitted  to  share  with  us  in  this  little 
interval  of  satisfaction.  After  my  guests  were  recovered  from 
the  consternation  my  account  had  produced,  I  requested  also 
that  Mr.  Jenkinson,  a  fellow-prisoner,  might  be  admitted,  and 
the  jailer  granted  my  request  with  an  air  of  unusual  submis- 
sion. The  clanking  of  my  son's  irons  were  no  sooner  heard 
along  the  passage,  than  his  sister  ran  impatiently  to  meet  him  ; 
while  Mr.  Burchell  in  the  meantime  asked  me,  if  my  son's  name 
was  George  ;  to  which  replying  in  the  affirmative,  he  still  con- 
tinued silent.  As  soon  as  my  boy  entered  the  room,  I  could 
perceive  he  regarded  Mr.  Burchell  with  a  look  of  astonishment 
and  reverence.  "  Come  on,"  cried  I,  "my  son  ;  though  we  are 
fallen  very  low,  yet  Providence  has  been  pleased  to  grant  us 
some  small  relaxation  from  pain.  Thy  sister  is  restored  to  us, 
and  there  is  her  deliverer  :  to  that  brave  man  it  is  that  I  am 
indebted  for  yet  having  a  daughter ;  give  him,  my  boy,  the 
hand  of  friendship  ;  he  deserves  our  warmest  gratitude." 

My  son  seemed  all  this  while  regardless  of  what  I  said,  and 
still  continued  fixed  at  respectful  distance — "  My  dear  brother," 
cried  his  sister,  "why  don't  you  thank  my  good  deliverer  ? 
the  brave  should  ever  love  each  other." 

He  still  continued  in  silence  and  astonishment  till  our  guest 
at  last  perceived  himself  to  be  known,  and,  assuming  all  his 
native  dignity,  desired  my  son  to  come  forward.  Never  before 
had  I  seen  any  thing  so  truly  majestic  as  the  air  he  assumed 
upon  this  occasion.  The  greatest  object  in  the  universe,  says 
a  certain  philosopher,  is  a  good  man  struggling  with  adversity ; 
yet  there  is  still  a  greater,  which  is  the  good  man  that  comes  to 
relieve  it.  After  he  had  regarded  my  son  for  some  time  with 
a  superior  air,  "  I  again  find,"  said  he,  "  unthinking  boy,  that 
the  same  crime  " — But  here  he  was  interrupted  by  one  of  the 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


137 


jailer's  servants,  who  came  to  inform  us  that  a  person  of  dis- 
tinction, who  had  driven  into  town  with  a  chariot  and  several 
attendants,  sent  his  respects  to  the  gentleman  that  was  with  us, 
and  begged  to  know  when  he  should  think  proper  to  be  waited 
upon. — "  Bid  the  fellow  wait,"  cried  our  guest,  "  till  I  shall  have 
leisure  to  receive  him  ; "  and  then  turning  to  my  son,  "  I 
again  find,  sir,"  proceeded  he,  "  that  you  are  guilty  of  the  same 
offence,  for  which  you  once  had  my  reproof,  and  for  which  the  law 
is  now  preparing  its  justest  punishments.  You  imagine,  per- 
haps, that  a  contempt  for  your  own  life  gives  you  a  right  to  take 
that  of  another :  but  where,  sir,  is  the  difference  between  a 
duellist  who  hazards  a  life  of  no  value,  and  the  murderer  who 
acts  with  greater  security  ?  Is  it  any  diminution  of  the  game- 
ster's  fraud,  when  he  alleges  that  he  has  staked  a  counter  ?  " 

"  Alas,  sir,"  cried  I,  "  whoever  you  are,  pity  the  poor  mis- 
guided creature  ;  for  what  he  has  done  was  in  obedience  to  a 
deluded  mother,  who,  in  the  bitterness  of  her  resentment, 
required  him,  upon  her  blessing,  to  avenge  her  quarrel.  Here, 
sir,  is  the  letter,  which  will  serve  to  convince  you  of  her  impru- 
dence, and  diminish  his  guilt," 

He  took  the  letter  and  hastily  read  it  over.  "  This,"  says 
he,  "  though  not  a  perfect  excuse,  is  such  a  palliation  of  his 
fault  as  induces  me  to  forgive  him.  And,  now,  sir,"  continued 
he,  kindly  taking  my  son  by  the  hand,  "I  see  you  are  surprised 
at  finding  me  here  ;  but  I  have  often  visited  prisons  upon  oc- 
casions less  interesting.  I  am  now  come  to  see  justice  done  a 
worthy  man,  for  whom  I  have  the  most  sincere  esteem.  I  have 
long  been  a  disguised  spectator  of  thy  father's  benevolence.  I 
have  at  his  little  dwelling  enjoyed  respect  uncontaminated  by 
flattery  ;  and  have  received  that  happiness  that  courts  could 
not  give  from  the  amusing  simplicity  round  his  fireside.  My 
nephew  has  been  apprized  of  my  intentions  of  coming  here, 
and  I  find  is  arrived.  It  would  be  wronging  him  and  you  to 
condemn  him  without  an  examination ;  if  there  be  injury, 
there  shall  be  redress ;  and  this  I  may  say,  without  boasting, 
that  none  have  ever  taxed  the  injustice  of  Sir  William  Thorn- 
hill." 

We  now  found  the  personage  whom  we  had  so  long  enter- 
tained as  a  harmless  amusing  companion,  was  no  other  than 
the  celebrated  Sir  William  Thornhill,  to  whose  virtues  and 
singularities  scarcely  any  were  strangers.  The  poor  Mr.  Bur- 
chell  was  in  reality  a  man  of  large  fortune  and  great  interest, 
to  whom  senates  listened  with  applause,  and  whom  party  heard 
with  conviction ;  who  was  the  friend  of  his  country,  but  loyal 


138  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

to  his  king.  My  poor  wife,  recalling  her  former  familiarity, 
seemed  to  shrink  with  apprehension ;  but  Sophia,  who  a  few 
moments  before  thought  him  her  own,  now  perceiving  the  im- 
mense distance  to  which  he  was  removed  by  fortune,  was  unable 
to  conceal  her  tears. 

"  Ah,  sir,"  cried  my  wife  with  a  piteous  aspect,  "  how  is  it 
possible  that  I  can  ever  have  your  forgiveness  ?  The  slights 
you  received  from  me  the  last  time  I  had  the  honor  of  seeing 
you  at  our  house,  and  the  jokes  which  I  audaciously  threw  out 
— these,  sir,  I  fear,  can  never  be  forgiven." 

"  My  dear  good  lady,"  returned  he  with  a  smile,  "  if  you  had 
-your  joke,  I  had  my  answer :  I'll  leave  it  to  all  tho  company  if 
mine  were  not  as  good  as  yours.  To  say  the  truth,  I  know  no- 
body whom  I  am  disposed  to  be  angry  with  at  present,  but  the 
fellow  who  so  frighted  my  little  girl  here.  I  had  not  even  time 
to  examine  the  rascal's  person  so  as  to  describe  him  in  an  ad- 
vertisement. Can  you  tell  me,  Sophy,  my  dear,  whether  you 
should  know  him  again  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  sir,"  replied  she,  "  I  can't  be  positive  ;  yet  now  I 
recollect  he  had  a  large  mark  over  one  of  his  eyebrows." — "  I 
ask  pardon,  madam,"  interrupted  Jenkinson,  who  was  by,  "  be 
so  good  as  to  inform  me  if  the  fellow  wore  his  own  red  hair  ?  " — 
"  Yes,  I  think  so,"  cried  Sophia.  "  And  did  your  honor,"  con- 
tinued he,  turning  to  Sir  William,  "  observe  the  length  of  his 
legs  ?  " — "  I  can't  be  sure  of  their  length,"  cried  the  baronet, 
"  but  I  am  convinced  of  their  swiftness ;  for  he  outran  me, 
which  is  what  I  thought  few  men  in  the  kingdom  could  have 
done." — "  Please  your  honor,"  cried  Jenkinson,  "  I  know  the 
man  :  it  is  certainly  the  same ;  the  best  runner  in  England  ; 
he  has  beaten  Pinwire  of  Newcastle ;  Timothy  Baxter  is  his 
name.  I  know  him  perfectly,  and  the  very  piace  of  his  retreat 
at  this  moment.  If  your  honor  will  bid  Mr.  Jailer  let  two  of 
his  men  go  with  me,  I'll  engage  to  produce  him  to  you  in  an 
hour  at  the  furthest."  Upon  this  the  jailer  was  called,  who 
instantly  appearing,  Sir  William  demanded  if  he  knew  him. 
"  Yes,  please  your  honor,"  replied  the  jailer,  "  I  know  Sir 
William  Thornhill  well,  and  everybody  that  knows  anything 
of  him  will  desire  to  know  more  of  him." — "  Well,  then,"  said 
the  baronet,  "  my  request  is,  that  you  permit  this  man  and  two 
of  your  servants  to  go  upon  a  message  by  my  authority ;  and 
as  I  am  in  the  commission  of  the  peace,  I  undertake  to  secure 
you." — "  Your  promise  is  sufficient,"  replied  the  other,  "  and 
you  may  at  a  minute's  warning  send  them  over  England  when- 
ever your  honor  thinks  fit." 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


139 


In  pursuance  of  the  jailer's  compliance  Jenkinson  was  dis- 
patched in  search  of  Timothy  Baxter,  while  we  were  amused 
with  the  assiduity  of  our  youngest  boy  Bill,  who  had  just  come 
in,  and  climbed  up  Sir  William's  neck  in  order  to  kiss  him. 
His  mother  was  immediately  going  to  chastise  his  familiarity, 
but  the  worthy  man  prevented  her ;  and  taking  the  child,  all 
ragged  as  he  was,  upon  his  knee,  "What,  Bill,  you  chubby 
rogue," cried  he,  "do  you  remember  your  old  friend  Burchell? 
and  Dick  too,  my  honest  veteran,  are  you  here?  you  shall  find 
I  have  not  forgot  you  "  So  saying,  he  gave  each  a  large  piece 
of  gingerbread,  which  the  poor  fellows  ate  heartily,  as  they  had 
got  that  morning  but  a  very  scanty  breakfast. 

We  now  sat  down  to  dinner,  which  was  almost  cold,  but 
previously,  my  arm  still  continuing  painful,  Sir  William  wrote  a 
prescription,  for  he  had  made  the  study  of  physic  his  amuse- 
ment, and  was  more  than  moderately  skilled  in  the  profession : 
this  being  sent  to  an  apothecary  who  lived  in  the  place,  my  arm 
was  dressed,  and  I  found  almost  instantaneous  relief.  We 
were  waited  upon  at  dinner  by  the  jailer  himself,  who  was  will- 
ing to  do  our  guest  all  the  honor  in  his  power.  But  before  we 
had  well  dined,  another  message  was  brought  from  his  nephew, 
desiring  permission  to  appear  in  order  to  vindicate  his  inno- 
cence and  honor ;  with  which  request  the  baronet  complied, 
and  desired  Mr,  Thornhill  to  be  introduced. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Former  benevolence  now  repaid  with  unexpected  interest 

MR.  THORNHILL  made  his  appearance  with  a  smile,  which 
he  seldom  wanted,  and  was  going  to  embrace  his  uncle,  which 
the  other  repulsed  with  an  air  of  disdain.  "  No  fawning,  sir, 
at  present,"  cried  the  baronet,  with  a  look  of  severity :  "  the 
only  way  to  my  heart  is  by  the  road  of  honor ;  but  here  I  only 
see  complicated  instances  of  falsehood,  cowardice,  and  op- 
pression. How  is  it,  sir,  that  this  poor  man,  for  whom  I  know 
you  professed  a  friendship,  is  used  thus  hardly  ?  His  daugh- 
ter vilely  seduced  as  a  recompense  for  his  hospitality,  and  he 
himself  thrown  into  prison,  perhaps  but  for  resenting  the  insult  ? 
His  son,  too,  whom  you  feared  to  face  as  a  man " 


140 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


"  Is  it  possible,  sir,"  interrupted  his  nephew,  "  that  my 
uncle  could  object  that  as  a  crime,  which  his  repeated  instruc- 
tions alone  have  persuaded  me  to  avoid  ?  " 

"  Your  rebuke,"  cried  Sir  Wiiliam,  "  is  just ;  you  have  acted 
in  this  instance  prudently  and  well,  though  not  quite  as  your 
father  would  have  done :  my  brother,  indeed,  was  the  soul  of 
honor ;  but  thou — Yes,  you  have  acted  in  this  instance  perfectly 
right,  and  it  has  my  warmest  approbation." 

"  And  I  hope,"  said  his  nephew,  "  that  the  rest  of  my  con- 
duct will  not  be  found  to  deserve  censure.  I  appeared,  sir, 
with  this  gentleman's  daughter  at  some  places  of  public  amuse- 
ment :  thus,  what  was  levity,  scandal  called  by  a  harsher  name, 
and  it  was  reported  that  I  had  debauched  her.  I  waited  on 
her  father  in  person,  willing  to  clear  the  thing  to  his  satisfaction, 
and  he  received  me  only  with  insult  and  abuse.  As  for  the  rest, 
with  regard  to  his  being  here,  my  attorney  and  steward  can 
best  inform  you,  as  I  commit  the  management  of  business  en- 
tirely to  them.  If  he  has  contracted  debts,  and  is  unwilling, 
or  even  unable  to  pay  them,  it  is  their  business  to  proceed  in 
this  manner ;  and  I  see  no  hardship  or  injustice  in  pursuing 
the  most  legal  means  of  redress." 

"  If  this,"  cried  Sir  William,  "  be  as  you  have  stated  it,  there 
is  nothing  unpardonable  in  your  offence ;  and  though  your  con- 
duct might  have  been  more  generous  in  not  suffering  this  gen- 
tleman to  be  oppressed  by  subordinate  tyranny,  yet  it  has  been 
at  least  equitable." 

"  He  cannot  contradict  a  single  particular,"  replied  the 
'Squire  ;  "  I  defy  him  to  do  so  ;  and  several  of  my  servants  are 
ready  to  attest  what  I  say.  Thus,  sir,"  continued  he,  finding 
that  I  was  silent,  for  in  fact  I  could  not  contradict  him ;  "  thus, 
sir,  my  own  innocence  is  vindicated  :  but  though  at  your  en- 
treaty, I  am  ready  to  forgive  this  gentleman  every  other  offence, 
yet  his  attempts  to  lessen  me  in  your  esteem  excite  a  resent- 
ment that  I  cannot  govern  ;  and  this,  too,  at  a  time  when  his 
son  was  actually  preparing  to  take  away  my  life ; — this,  I  say, 
was  such  guilt,  that  I  am  determined  to  let  the  law  take  its 
course.  I  have  here  the  challenge  that  was  sent  me,  and  two 
witnesses  to  prove  it :  one  of  my  servants  has  been  wounded 
dangerously  ;  and  even  though  my  uncle  himself  should  dis- 
suade me,  which  I  know  he  will  not,  yet  I  will  see  public 
justice  done,  and  he  shall  suffer  for  it." 

"Thou  monster,"  cried  my  wife,  "hast  thou  not  had  ven- 
geance enough  already,  but  must  my  poor  boy  feel  thy  cruelty  ? 
I  hope  that  good  Sir  William  will  protect  us ;  for  my  son  is  as 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


141 


innocent  as  a  child  :  I  am  sure  he  is,  and  never  did  harm  to 
man." 

"Madam,"  replied  the  good  man,  "your  wishes  for  his 
safety  are  not  greater  than  mine  ;  but  I  am  sorry  to  find  his 
guilt  too  plain  ;  and  if  my  nephew  persists — "  But  the  ap- 
pearance of  Jenkinson  and  the  jailer's  two  servants  now  called 
off  our  attention,  who  entered,  hauling  in  a  tall  man,  very  gen- 
teelty  dressed,  and  answering  the  description  already  given  of 
the  ruffian  who  had  carried  off  my  daughter : — "  Here,"  cried 
Jenkinson,  pulling  him  in,  "here  we  have  him;  and  if  ever 
there  was  a  candidate  for  Tyburn,  this  is  one." 

The  moment  Mr.  Thornhill  perceived  the  prisoner,  and  Jen- 
kinson who  had  him  in  custody,  he  seemed  to  shrink  back  with 
terror.  His  face  became  pale  with  conscious  guilt,  and  he 
would  have  withdrawn;  but  Jenkinson,  who  perceived  his 
design,  stopped  him. — "  What,  'Squire,"  cried  he,  "  are  you 
ashamed  of  your  two  old  acquaintances,  Jenkinson  and  Baxter  ? 
but  this  is  the  way  all  great  men  forget  their  friends,  though  I 
am  resolved  we  will  not  forget  you.  Our  prisoner,  please  your 
honor,"  continued  he,  turning  to  Sir  William,  "has  already  con- 
fessed all.  This  is  the  gentleman  reported  to  be  so  dangerously 
wounded.  He  declares  that  it  was  Mr.  Thornhill  who  first  put 
him  upon  this  affair ;  that  he  gave  him  the  clothes  he  now 
wears,  to  appear  like  a  gentleman ;  and  furnished  him  with  the 
post-chaise.  The  plan  was  laid  between  them,  that  he  should 
carry  off  the  young  lady  to  a  place  of  safety  ;  and  that  there  he 
should  threaten  and  terrify  her  ;  but  Mr.  Thornhill  was  to  come 
in  the  meantime,  as  if  by  accident,  to  her  rescue  ;  and  that  they 
should  fight  awhile,  and  then  he  was  to  run  off, — by  which  Mr. 
Thornhill  would  have  the  better  opportunity  of  gaining  her  af- 
fections himself,  under  the  character  of  her  defender." 

Sir  William  remembered  the  coat  to  have  been  worn  by 
his  nephew,  and  all  the  rest  the  prisoner  himself  confirmed  by 
a  more  circumstantial  account,  concluding  that  Mr.  Thornhill 
had  often  declared  to  him  that  he  was  in  love  with  both  sisters 
at  the  same  timCo 

"  Heavens  !  "  cried  Sir  William,  "  what  a  viper  have  I  been 
fostering  in  my  bosom  ?  And  so  fond  of  public  justice,  too, 
as  he  seemed  to  be !  But  he  shall  have  it ;  secure  him,  Mr. 
Jailer  : — yet,  hold,  I  fear  there  is  no  legal  evidence  to  detain 
him." 

Upon  this  Mr.  Thornhill,  with  the  utmost  humility,  en- 
treated that  two  such  abandoned  wretches  might  not  be  ad- 
mitted as  evidences  against  him,  but  that  his  servants  should 


142 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


be  examined.  —  "  Your  servants  !  "  replied  Sir  William  ; 
"  wretch !  call  them  yours  no  longer ;  but  come  let  us  hear 
what  these  fellows  have  to  say ;  let  his  butler  be  called." 

When  the  butler  was  introduced,  he  soon  perceived  by  his 
former  master's  looks  that  all  his  power  was  now  over.  "  Tell 
me,"  cried  Sir  William  sternly,  "have  you  ever  seen  your  master 
and  that  fellow  dressed  up  in  his  clothes  in  company  together  ?  " 
— "  Yes,  'please  your  honor,"  cried  the  butler,  "  a  thousand 
times  :  he  was  the  man  that  always  brought  him  his  ladies." — 
"  How,"  interrupted  young  Mr.  Thornhill,  "  this  to  my  face  !  " 
— "  Yes,"  replied  the  butler,  "  or  to  any  man's  face.  To  tell 
you  a  truth,  Master  Thornhill,  I  never  either  loved  or  liked 
you,  and  I  don't  care  if  I  tell  you  now  a  piece  of  my  mind." 
— "  Now,  then,"  cried  Jenkinson,  "tell  his  honor  whether  you 
know  anything  of  me." — "  I  can't  say,"  replied  the  butler, 
"  that  I  know  much  good  of  you.  The  night  that  gentleman's 
daughter  was  deluded  to  our  house,  you  were  one  of  them." — • 
"  So,  then,"  cried  Sir  William,  "  I  find  you  have  brought  a 
very  fine  witness  to  prove  your  innocence :  thou  stain  to  hu- 
manity !  to  associate  with  such  wretches !  But,"  continuing 
his  examination,  "  you  tell  me,  Mr.  Butler,  that  this  was  the 
person  who  brought  him  this  old  gentleman's  daughter." — 
"  No,  please  your  honor,"  replied  the  butler,  he  did  not  bring 
her,  for  the  Squire  himself  undertook  that  business :  but  he 
brought  the  priest  that  pretended  to  marry  them." — "  It  is  but 
too  true,"  cried  Jenkinson,  "  I  cannot  deny  it ;  that  was  the 
employment  assigned  me,  and  I  confess  it  to  my  confusion." 

"  Good  heavens ! "  exclaimed  the  baronet,  "  how  every  new 
discovery  of  his  villany  alarms  me.  All  his  guilt  is  now  too 
plain,  and  I  find  his  prosecution  was  dictated  by  tyranny,  cow- 
ardice, and  revenge.  At  my  request,  Mr.  Jailer,  set  this 
young  officer,  now  your  prisoner,  free,  and  trust  to  me  for  the 
consequences,  I'll  make  it  my  business  to  set  the  affair  in  a 
proper  light  to  my  friend  the  magistrate  who  has  committed 
him. — But  where  is  the  unfortunate  young  lady  herself  ?  Let 
her  appear  to  confront  this  wretch  :  I  long  to  know  by  what 
arts  he  has  seduced  her.  Entreat  her  to  come  in.  Where  is 
she  ?  " 

"  Ah,  sir,"  said  I,  "  that  question  stings  me  to  the  heart ; 

I  was  once  indeed  happy  in  a  daughter,  but  her  miseries ' 

Another  interruption  here  prevented  me ;  for  who  should  make 
her  appearance  but  Miss  Arabella  Wilmot,  who  was  next  day 
to  have  been  married  to  Mr.  Thornhill.  Nothing  could  equal 
her  surprise  at  seeing  Sir  William  and  his  nephew  here  before 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


143 


her ;  for  her  arrival  was  quite  accidental.  It  happened  that 
she  and  the  old  gentleman,  her  father,  were  passing  through 
the  town  on  her  way  to  her  aunt's,  who  insisted  that  her  nup- 
tials with  Mr.  Thornhill  should  be  consummated  at  her  house  j 
but  stopping  for  refreshment,  they  put  up  at  an  inn  at  the 
other  end  of  the  town.  It  was  there,  from  the  window,  that 
the  young  lady  happened  to  observe  one  of  my  little  boys, 
playing  in  the  street,  and  instantly  sending  a  footman  to  bring 
the  child  to  her,  she  learned  from  him  some  account  of  our 
misfortunes  ;  but  was  still  kept  ignorant  of  young  Mr.  Thorn- 
hill's  being  the  cause.  Though  her  father  made  several  re- 
monstrances on  the  impropriety  of  going  to  a  prison  to  visit 
us,  yet  they  were  ineffectual ;  she  desired  the  child  to  conduct 
her,  which  he  did,  and  it  was  thus  she  surprised  us  at  a  junc- 
ture so  unexpected. 

Nor  can  I  go  on  without  a  reflection  on  those  accidental 
meetings,  which,  though  they  happen  every  day,  seldom  excite 
our  surprise  but  upon  some  extraordinary  occasion.  To  what 
a  fortuitous  concurrence  do  we  not  owe  every  pleasure  and 
convenience  of  our  lives  !  How  many  seeming  accidents  must 
unite  before  we  can  be  clothed  or  fed  !  The  peasant  must  be 
disposed  to  labor,  the  shower  must  fall,  the  wind  fill  the  mer- 
chant's sail,  or  numbers  must  want  the  usual  supply. 

We  all  continued  silent  for  some  moments,  while  my  charm- 
ing pupil,  which  was  the  name  I  generally  gave  this  young  lady, 
united  in  her  looks  compassion  and  astonishment,  which  gave 
new  finishing  to  her  beauty.  "  Indeed,  my  dear  Mr.  Thorn- 
hill,"  cried  she  to  the  'Squire,  who  she  supposed  was  come 
here  to  succor,  and  not  to  oppress  us,  "  I  take  it  a  little  un- 
kindly that  you  should  come  here  without  me,  or  never  inform 
me  of  the  situation  of  a  family  so  dear  to  us  both  ;  you  know  I 
should  take  as  much  pleasure  in  contributing  to  the  relief  of 
my  reverend  old  master  here,  whom  I  shall  ever  esteem,  as 
you  can.  But  I  find  that,  like  your  uncle,  you  take  a  pleasure 
in  doing  good  in  secret." 

"  He  find  pleasure  in  doing  good  !  "  cried  Sir  William,  in- 
terrupting her.  "  No,  my  dear,  his  pleasures  are  as  base  as 
he  is.  You  see  in  him,  madam,  as  complete  a  villain  as  ever 
disgraced  humanity.  A  wretch,  who,  after  having  deluded 
this  poor  man's  daughter,  after  plotting  against  the  innocence 
of  her  sister,  has  thrown  the  father  into  prison,  and  the  eldest 
son  into  fetters  because  he  had  the  courage  to  face  her  be- 
trayer. And  give  me  leave,  madam,  now  to  congratulate  you 
upon  an  escape  from  the  embraces  of  such  a  monster." 


144  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

"  O  goodness,"  cried  the  lovely  girl,  "  how  have  I  been 
deceived  !  Mr.  Thornhill  informed  me  for  certain  that  this 
gentleman's  eldest  son,  Captain  Primrose,  was  gone  off  to 
America  with  his  new-married  lady." 

"  My  sweetest  miss,"  cried  my  wife,  "  he  has  told  you 
nothing  but  falsehoods.  My  son  George  never  left  the  king- 
dom, nor  ever  was  married. — Though  you  have  forsaken  him, 
he  has  always  loved  you  too  well  to  think  of  anybody  else ; 
and  I  have  heard  him  say,  he  would  die  a  bachelor  for  your 
sake."  She  then  proceeded  to  expatiate  upon  the  sincerity  of 
her  son's  passion,  She  set  his  duel  with  Mr.  Thornhill  in  a 
proper  light :  from  thence  she  made  a  rapid  digression  to  the 
'Squire's  debaucheries,  his  pretended  marriages,  and  ended 
with  a  most  insulting  picture  of  his  cowardice. 

"  Good  Heaven ! "  cried  Miss  Wilmot,  "  how  very  near 
have  I  been  to  the  brink  of  ruin  !  Ten  thousand  falsehoods 
has  this  gentleman  told  me  :  he  had  at  last  art  enough  to  per- 
suade me,  that  my  promise  to  the  only  man  I  esteemed  was  no 
longer  binding,  since  he  had  been  unfaithful.  By  his  false- 
hoods I  was  taught  to  detest  one  equally  brave  and  generous." 

But  by  this  time  my  son  was  freed  from  the  incumbrances 
of  justice,  as  the  person  supposed  to  be  wounded  was  detected 
to  be  an  imposter.  Mr.  Jenkinson  also,  who  had  acted  as  his 
•valet  de  chambre,  had  dressed  up  his  hair,  and  furnished  him 
with  whatever  was  necessary  to  make  a  genteel  appearance. 
He  now  therefore  entered,  handsomely  dressed  in  his  regimen- 
tals ;  and  without  vanity  (for  I  am  above  it),  he  appeared  as 
handsome  a  fellow  as  ever  wore  a  military  dress.  As  he  en- 
tered, he  made  Miss  Wilmot  a  modest  and  distant  bow,  for  he 
was  not  as  yet  acquainted  with  the  change  which  the  elo- 
quence of  his  mother  had  wrought  in  his  favor.  But  no  deco- 
rums could  restrain  the  impatience  of  his  blushing  mistress  to 
be  forgiven.  Her  tears,  her  looks,  all  contributed  to  discover 
the  real  sensations  of  her  heart,  for  having  forgotten  her  former 
promise,  and  having  suffered  herself  to  be  deluded  by  an  im- 
poster. My  son  appeared  amazed  at  her  condescension,  and 
could  scarcely  believe  it  real. — "  Sure,  madam,"  cried  he, 
"  this  is  but  delusion  !  I  can  never  have  merited  this  !  To 
be  blessed  thus  is  to  be  too  happy." — "  No,  sir,"  replied  she  r 
"  I  have  been  deceived,  basely  deceived,  else  nothing  could 
have  ever  made  me  unjust  to  my  promise.  You  know  my 
friendship,  you  have  long  known  it ;  but  forget  what  I  have 
done,  and  as  you  once  had  my  warmest  vows  of  constancy,  you 
shall  now  have  them  repeated  :  and  be  assured,  that  if  your 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


'45 


Arabella  cannot  be  yours,  she  shall  never  be  another's."  "And 
no  other's  you  shall  be,"  cried  Sir  William,  "  if  I  have  any  in- 
fluence with  your  father." 

This  hint  was  sufficient  for  my  son  Moses,  who  immediately 
flew  to  the  inn  where  the  old  gentleman  was,  to  inform  him  of 
every  circumstance  that  had  happened.  But  in  the  mean-time 
the  'Squire,  perceiving  that  he  was  on  every  side  undone,  now 
finding  that  no  hopes  were  left  from  flattery  and  dissimulation, 
concluded  that  his  wisest  way  would  be  to  turn  and  face  his 
pursuers.  Thus,  laying  aside  all  shame,  he  appeared  the  open 
hardy  villain.  "  I  find,  then,"  cried  he,  "  that  I  am  to  expect 
no  justice  here ;  but  I  am  resolved  it  shall  be  done  me.  You 
shall  know,  sir,"  turning  to  Sir  William,  "  I  am  no  longer  a 
poor  dependent  upon  your  favors.  I  scorn  them.  Nothing 
can  keep  Miss  Wilmot's  fortune  from  me,  which,  I  thank  her 
father's  assiduity,  is  pretty  large.  The  articles  and  a  bond  for 
her  fortune  are  signed,  and  safe  in  my  possession.  It  was  her 
fortune,  not  her  person,  that  induced  me  to  wish  for  this  match ; 
and  possessed  of  the  one,  let  who  will  take  the  other." 

This  was  an  alarming  blow.  Sir  WTilliam  was  sensible  of 
the  justice  of  his  claims,  for  he  had  been  instrumental  in  draw- 
ing up  the  marriage  articles  himself.  Miss  Wilmot,  therefore, 
perceiving  that  her  fortune  was  irretrievably  lost,  turning  to  my 
son.  she  asked  if  the  loss  of  her  fortune  could  lessen  her  value 
to  him  ?  "  Though  fortune,"  said  she,  "  is  out  of  my  power,  at 
least  I  have  my  heart  to  give." 

"And  that,  madam,"  cried  her  real  lover,  "was  indeed  all 
that  you  ever  had  to  give;  at  least  all  that  I  ever  thought  worth 
the  acceptance.  And  I  now  protest,  my  Arabella,  by  all  that's 
happy,  your  want  of  fortune  this  moment  increases  my  pleasure, 
as  it  serves  to  convince  my  sweet  girl  of  my  sincerity." 

Mr.  Wilmot  now  entering,  he  seemed  not  a  little  pleased  at 
the  danger  his  daughter  had  just  escaped,  and  readily  consented 
to  a  dissolution  of  the  match.  But  finding  that  her  fortune, 
which  was  secured  to  Mr.  Thornhill  by  bond,  would  not  be 
given  up,  nothing  could  exceed  his  disappointment.  He  now 
saw  that  his  money  must  all  go  to  enrich  one  who  had  no  for- 
tune of  his  own.  He  could  bear  his  being  a  rascal,  but  to  want 
an  equivalent  to  his  daughter's  fortune  was  wormwood.  He 
sat  therefore  for  some  minutes  employed  in  the  most  mortify- 
ing speculations,  till  Sir  William  attempted  to  lessen  his  anxiety. 
— "1  must  confess,  sir,"  cried  he,  "that  your  present  disap- 
pointment does  not  entirely  displease  me.  Your  immoderate 
passion  for  wealth  is  'now  justly  punished.  But  though  the 

to 


I46  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

young  lady  cannot  be  rich,  she  has  still  a  competence  sufficient 
to  give  content.  Here  you  see  an  honest  young  soldier,  who 
is  willing  to  take  her  without  fortune :  they  have  long  loved 
each  other ;  and  for  the  friendship  I  bear  his  father,  my  inter- 
est shall  not  be  wanting  in  his  promotion.  Leave  then  that 
ambition  which  disappoints  you,  and  for  once  admit  that  hap- 
piness which  courts  your  acceptance." 

"  Sir  William,"  replied  the  old  gentleman,  "  be  assured  I 
never  yet  forced  her  inclinations,  nor  will  I  now.  If  she  still 
continues  to  love  this  young  gentleman,  let  her  have  him  with 
all  my  heart.  There  is  still,  thank  Heaven,  some  fortune  left, 
and  your  promise  will  make  it  something  more.  Only  let  my 
old  friend  here  (meaning  me)  give  me  a  promise  of  settling  six 
thousand  pounds  upon  my  girl  if  ever  he  should  come  to  his 
fortune,  and  I  am  ready  this  night  to  be  the  first  to  join  them 
together." 

As  it  now  remained  with  me  to  make  the  young  couple 
happy,  I  readily  gave  a  promise  of  making  the  settlement  he 
required,  which  from  one  who  had  such  little  expectations  as  I, 
was  no  great  favor.  We  had  now,  therefore,  the  satisfaction  of 
seeing  them  fly  into  each  other's  arms  in  a  transport. — "  After 
all  my  misfortunes,"  cried  my  son  George,  "  to  be  thus  reward- 
ed !  Sure  this  is  more  than  I  could  have  presumed  to  hope  for. 
To  be  possessed  of  all  that's  good,  and  after  such  an  interval 
of  pain  !  My  warmest  wishes  could  never  rise  so  high !  " 

"  Yes,  my  George,"  returned  his  lovely  bride,  "now  let  the 
wretch  take  my  fortune  :  since  you  are  happy  without  it,  so  am 
I.  O  what  an  exchange  have  I  made  from  the  basest  of  men 
to  the  dearest,  best ! — Let  him  enjoy  our  fortune,  I  now  can  be 
happy  even  in  indigence." — "And  I  promise  you,"  cried  the 
'Squire,  with  a  malicious  grin,  "  that  I  shall  be  very  happy  with 
what  you  despise." — "  Hold,  hold,  sir,"  cried  Jenkinson,  "  there 
are  two  words  to  that  bargain.  As  for  that  lady's  fortune,  sir, 
you  shall  never  touch  a  single  stiver  of  it.  Pray,  your  honor," 
continued  he  to  Sir  William,  "can  the  'Squire  have  the  lady's 
fortune  if  he  be  married  to  another  ?  " — "  How  can  you  make 
such  a  simple  demand  ? "  replied  the  baronet :  "  undoubtedly 
he  cannot." — "  I  am  sorry  for  that,"  cried  Jenkinson  ;  "  for  as 
this  gentleman  and  I  have  been  old  fellow-sporters,  I  have  a 
friendship  for  him.  But  I  must  declare,  well  as  I  love  him,  that 
his  contract  is  not  worth  a  tobacco-stopper,  for  he  is  married 
already." — "  You  lie,  like  a  rascal,"  returned  the  'Squire,  who 
seemed  roused  by  this  insult ;  "  I  never  was  legally  married  to 
any  woman." 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 


147 


"  Indeed,  begging  your  honor's  pardon,"  replied  the  other, 
"  you  were  ;  and  I  hope  you  will  show  a  proper  return  of  friend^ 
ship  to  your  own  honest  Jenkinson,  who  brings  you  a  wife ;  and 
if  the  company  restrain  their  curiosity  a  few  minutes,  they  shall 
see  her."  So  saying  he  went  off  with  his  usual  celerity,  and 
left  us  all  unable  to  form  any  probable  conjecture  as  to  his  de- 
sign. "Ay,  let  him  go,"  cried  the  'Squire;  "whatever  else  I 
may  have  done,  I  defy  him  there.  I  am  too  old  now  to  be 
frightened  with  squibs." 

"  I  am  surprised,"  said  the  baronet,  "what  the  fellow  can 
intend  by  this.  Some  low  piece  of  humor,  I  suppose." — "  Per- 
haps, sir,"  replied  I,  "  he  may  have  a  more  serious  meaning. 
For  when  we  reflect  on  the  various  schemes  this  gentleman  has 
laid  to  seduce  innocence,  perhaps  some  one,  more  artful  than 
the  rest,  has  been  found  able  to  deceive  him.  When  we  con- 
sider what  numbers  he  has  ruined,  how  many  parents  now  feel 
with  anguish  the  infamy  and  the  contamination  which  he  has 
brought  into  their  families,  it  would  not  surprise  me  if  some 
one  of  them — Amazement !  Do  I  see  my  lost  daughter  ?  Do 
I  hold  her  ?  It  is,  it  is  my  life,  my  happiness.  I  thought  thee 
lost,  my  Olivia,  yet  still  I  hold  thee — and  still  thou  shall  live  to 
bless  me."  The  warmest  transports  of  the  fondest  lover  were 
not  greater  than  mine,  when  I  saw  him  introduce  my  child,  and 
held  my  daughter  in  my  arms,  whose  silence  only  spoke  her 
raptures. 

"  And  art  thou  returned  to  me,  my  darling,"  cried  I,  "  to  be 

my  comfort  in  age  !  " "  That  she  is,"  cried  Jenkinson,  "  and 

make  much  of  her,  for  she  is  your  own  honorable  child,  and  as 
honest  a  woman  as  any  in  the  whole  room,  let  the  other  be  who 
she  will.  And  as  for  you,  'Squire,  as  sure  as  you  stand  there, 
this  young  lady  is  your  lawful  wedded  wife.  And  to  convince  you 
that  I  speak  nothing  but  the  truth,  here  is  the  license  by  which 
you  were  married  together." — So  saying,  he  put  the  license  into 
the  baronet's  hands,  who  read  it,  and  found  it  perfect  in  every 
respect.  "  And  now,  gentlemen,"  continued  he,  "  I  find  you 
are  surprised  at  all  this ;  but  a  few  words  will  explain  the  diffi- 
culty. That  there  'Squire  of  renown,  for  whom  I  have  a  great 
friendship  (but  that's  between  ourselves),  has  often  employed 
me  in  doing  odd  little  things  for  him.  Among  the  rest  he  com- 
missioned me  to  procure  him  a  false  license  and  a  false  priest, 
in  order  to  deceive  this  young  lady.  But  as  I  was  very  much 
his  friend,  what  did  I  do,  but  went  and  got  a  true  license  and 
a  true  priest,  and  married  them  both  as  fast  as  the  cloth  could 
make  thei%._  Perhaps  you'll  think  it  was  generosity  that  made 


I48  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD 

me  do  all  this  :  to  my  shame  I  confess  it,  my  only  design  was 
to  keep  the  license,  and  let  the  'Squire  know  that  I  could  prove 
it  upon  him  whenever  I  thought  proper,  and  so  make  him  come 
down  whenever  I  wanted  money."  A  burst  of  pleasure  now 
seemed  to  fill  the  whole  apartment ;  our  joy  reached  even  to 
the  common  room,  where  the  prisoners  themselves  sympathized, 

And  shook  their  chains 

In  transport  and  rude  harmony. 

Happiness  was  expanded  upon  every  face,  and  even  Olivia's 
cheek  seemed  flushed  with  pleasure.  To  be  thus  restored  to 
reputation,  to  friends  and  fortune  at  once,  was  a  rapture  sufficient 
to  stop  the  progress  of  decay,  and  restore  former  health  and 
vivacity.  But  perhaps  among  all  there  was  not  one  who  felt 
sincerer  pleasure  than  I.  Still  holding  the  dear  loved  child  in 
my  arms,  I  asked  my  heart  if  these  transports  were  not  delusion. 
"  How  could  you,"  cried  I,  turning  to  Mr.  Jenkinson,  "  how 
could  you  add  to  my  miseries  by  the  story  of  her  death  ?  But 
it  matters  not ;  my  pleasure  at  finding  her  again  is  more  than 
a  recompense  for  the  pain." 

"  As  to  your  question,"  replied  Jenkinson,  "  that  is  easily 
answered.  I  thought  the  only  probable  means  of  freeing  you 
from  prison,  was  by  submitting  to  the  'Squire,  and  consenting 
to  his  marriage  with  the  other  young  lady.  But  these  you  had 
vowed  never  to  grant  while  your  daughter  was  living ;  there 
was  therefore  no  other  method  to  bring  things  to  bear,  but  by 
persuading  you  that  she  was  dead.  I  prevailed  on  your  wife 
to  join  in  the  deceit,  and  we  have  not  had  a  fit  opportunity  of 
undeceiving  you  till  now." 

In  the  whole  assembly  there  now  appeared  only  two  faces 
that  did  not  glow  with  transport.  Mr.  ThornhilPs  assurance 
had  entirely  forsaken  him :  he  now  saw  the  gulf  of  infamy 
and  want  before  him,  and  trembled  to  take  the  plunge.  He 
therefore  fell  on  his  knees  before  his  uncle,  and  in  a  voice  of 
piercing  misery  implored  compassion.  Sir  William  was  going 
to  spurn  him  away,  but  at  my  request  he  raised  him,  and,  after 
pausing  a  few  moments,  "  Thy  vices,  crimes,  and  ingratitude," 
cried  he,  "  deserve  no  tenderness ;  yet  thou  shalt  not  be  en- 
tirely forsaken — a  bare  competence  shall  be  supplied  to  support 
the  wants  of  life,  but  not  its  follies.  This  young  lady,  thy  wife, 
shall  be  put  in  possession  of  a  third  part  of  that  fortune  which 
once  was  thine,  and  from  her  tenderness  alone  thou  art  to 
expect  any  extraordinary  supplies  for  the  future."  He  was 
going  to  express  his  gratitude  for  such  kindness  in  a  set  speech  \ 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD, 


149 


but  the  baronet  prevented  him,  by  bidding  him  not  aggravate 
his  meanness,  which  was-already  but  too  apparent.  He  ordered 
him  at  the  same  time  to  begone,  and  from  all  his  former  do- 
mestics to  choose  one,  such  as  he  should  think  proper,  which 
was  all  that  should  be  granted  to  attend  him. 

As  soon  as  he  left  us,  Sir  William  very  politely  stepped  up 
to  his  new  niece  with  a  smile,  and  wished  her  joy.  His  ex- 
ample was  followed  by  Miss  Wilmot  and  her  father.  My  wife 
too  kissed  her  daughter  with  much  affection,  as,  to  use  her 
own  expression,  she  was  now  made  an  honest  woman  of. 
Sophia  and  Moses  followed  in  turn,  and  even  our  benefactor 
Jenkinson  desired  to  be  admitted  to  that  honor.  Our  satisfac- 
tion seemed  scarcely  capable  of  increase.  Sir  William,  whose 
greatest  pleasure  was  in  doing  good,  now  looked  round  with  a 
countenance  open  as  the  sun,  and  saw  nothing  but  joy  in  the  looks 
of  all  except  that  of  my  daughter  Sophia,  who,  for  some  reasons 
we  could  not  comprehend,  did  not  seem  perfectly  satisfied. 
"I  think,  now,"  cried  he,  with  a  smile,  "that  all  the  company 
except  one  or  two  seem  perfectly  happy.  There  only  remains 
an  act  of  justice  for  me  to  do.  You  are  sensible,  sir,"  con- 
tinued he,  turning  to  me,  "  of  the  obligations  we  both  owe  Mr. 
Jenkinson,  and  it  is  but  just  we  should  both  reward  him  for  it. 
Miss  Sophia  will,  I  am  sure,  make  him  very  happy,  and  he 
shall  have  from  me  five  hundred  pounds  as  her  fortune :  and 
upon  this  I  am  sure  they  can  live  very  comfortably  together. 
Come,  Miss  Sophia,  what  say  you  to  this  match  of  my  making? 

Will  you  have  him  ? " My  poor  girl  seemed  almost  sinking 

into  her  mother's  arms  at  this  hideous  proposal. — "  Have  him, 
sir!"  cried  she  faintly:  "No,  sir,  never." — "What!"  cried  he 
again,  "not  have  Mr.  Jenkinson,  your  benefactor,  a  handsome 
young  fellow,  with  five  hundred  pounds,  and  good  expecta- 
tions ? " — "  I  beg,  sir,"  returned  she,  scarcely  able  to  speak, 
"  that  you'll  desist,  and  not  make  me  so*  very  wretched." 
"  Was  ever  such  obstinacy  known  ? "  cried  he  again,  "  to  refuse 
a  man  whom  the  family  has  such  infinite  obligations  to,  who 
has  preserved  your  sister,  and  who  has  five  hundred  pounds  ! 
What,  not  have  him  ?  " "  No,  sir,  never,"  replied  she  an- 
grily ;  "  I'd  sooner  die  first."—"  If  that  be  the  case,  then," 
cried  he,  "  if  you  will  not  have  him — I  think  I  must  have  you 
myself."  And  so  saying,  he  caught  her  to  his  breast  with  ardor. 
"My  loveliest,  my  most  sensible  of  girls,"  cried  he,  "how 
could  you  ever  think  your  own  Burchell  could  deceive  you,  or 
that  Sir  William  Thorohill  could  ever  cease  to  admire  a  mistress 
that  loved  him  for  himself  alone?  I  have  for  some  years 


IS0  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

sought  for  a  woman,  who,  a  stranger  to  my  fortune,  could  think 
that  I  had  merit  as  a  man.  After  having  tried  in  vain,  even 
amongst  the  pert  and  the  ugly,  how  great  at  last  must  be  my 
rapture  to  have  made  a  conquest  over  such  sense  and  such 
heavenly  beauty  ! "  Then  turning  to  Jenkinson ;  "  As  I  cannot, 
sir,  part  with  this  young  lady  myself,  for  she  has  taken  a  fancy 
to  the  cut  of  my  face,  all  the  recompense  I  can  make  is  to  give 
you  her  fortune  ;  and  you  may  call  upon  my  steward  to-morrow 
for  five  hundred  pounds."  Thus,  we  had  all  our  compliments 
to  repeat,  and  Lady  Thornhill  underwent  the  same  round  of 
ceremony  that  her  sister  had  done  before.  In  the  mean-time, 
Sir  William's  gentleman  appeared  to  tell  us  that  the  equipages 
were  ready  to  carry  us  to  the  inn,  where  everything  was  pre- 
pared for  our  reception.  My  wife  and  I  led  the  van,  and  left 
those  gloomy  mansions  of  sorrow.  The  generous  baronet 
ordered  forty  pounds  to  be  distributed  among  the  prisoners, 
and  Mr.  Wilmot,  induced  by  his  example,  gave  half  that  sum. 
We  were  received  below  by  the  shouts  of  the  villagers,  and  I 
saw  and  shook  by  the  hand  two  or  three  of  my  honest  parish- 
ioners, who  were  among  the  number.  They  attended  us  to  our 
inn,  where  a  sumptuous  entertainment  was  provided,  and 
coarser  provisions  were  distributed  in  great  quantities  among 
the  populace. 

After  supper,  as  my  spirits  were  exhausted  by  the  alterna- 
tion of  pleasure  and  pain  which  they  had  sustained  during  the 
day,  I  asked  permission  to  withdraw  ;  and  leaving  the  company 
in  the  midst  of  their  mirth,  as  soon  as  I  found  myself  alone,  I 
poured  out  my  heart  in  gratitude  to  the  Giver  of  joy  as  well 
as  of  sorrow,  and  then  slept  undisturbed  till  morning. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

The  Conclusion. 

THE  next  morning  as  soon  as  I  awaked  I  found  my  eldes 
son  sitting  by  my  bedside,  who  came  to  increase  my  joy  with 
another  turn  of  fortune  in  my  favor.  First  having  released  me 
from  the  settlement  that  I  had  made  the  day  before  in  hist 
favor,  he  let  me  know  that  my  merchant  who  had  failed  in  town 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  l$i 

was  arrested  at  Antwerp,  and  there  had  given  up 'effects  to  a 
much  greater  amount  than  what  was  due  to  his  creditors.  My 
boy's  generosity  pleased  me  almost  as  much  as  this  unlookecl- 
for  good  fortune  ;  but  I  had  some  doubts  whether  I  ought  in 
justice  to  accept  his  offer.  While  I  was  pondering  upon  this, 
Sir  William  entered  the  room,  to  whom  I  communicated  my 
doubts.  His  opinion  was,  that  as  my  son  was  already  pos- 
sessed of  a  very  affluent  fortune  by  his  marriage,  I  might  ac- 
cept his  offer  without  any  hesitation.  His  business,  however, 
was  to  inform  me,  that  as  he  had  the  night  before  sent  for  the 
licenses,  and  expected  them  every  hour,  he  hoped  that  I  would  . 
not  refuse  my  assistance  in  making  all  the  company  happy  that 
morning.  A  footman  entered  while  we  were  speaking,  to  tell 
us  that  the  messenger  was  returned  ;  and  as  I  was  by  this  time 
ready,  I  went  down,  where  I  found  the  whole  company  as  merry 
as  affluence  and  innocence  could  make  them.  However,  as 
they  were  now  preparing  for  a  very  solemn  ceremony,  their 
laughter  entirely  displeased  me.  I  told  them  of  the  grave,  be- 
coming and  sublime  deportment  they  should  assume  upon  this 
mystical  occasion,  and  read  them  two  homilies,  and  a  thesis  of 
my  own  composing,  in  order  to  prepare  them.  Yet  they  still 
seemed  perfectly  refractory  and  ungovernable.  Even  as  we 
were  going  along  to  church,  to  which  I  led  the  way,  all  gravity 
had  quite  forsaken  them,  and  I  was  often  tempted  to  turn  back 
in  indignation.  In  church  a  new  dilemma  arose  which  promised 
no  easy  solution.  This  was,  which  couple  should  be  married 
first.  My  son's  bride  warmly  insisted  that  Lady  Thornhill  (that 
was  to  be)  should  take  the  lead :  but  this  the  other  refused 
with  equal  ardor,  protesting  she  would  not  be  guilty  of  such 
rudeness  for  the  world.  The  argument  was  supported  for  some 
time  between  both  with  equal  obstinacy  and  good-breeding. 
But  as  I  stood  all  this  time  with  my  book  ready,  I  was  at  last 
quite  tired  of  the  contest ;  and  shutting  it,  "  I  perceive,"  cried 
I,  "  that  none  of  you  have  a  mind  to  be  married,  and  I  think 
we  had  as  good  go  back  again  ;  for  I  suppose  there  will  be  no 
business  done  here  to-day."  This  at  once  reduced  them  to 
reason.  The  baronet  and  his  lady  were  first  married,  and  then 
my  son  and  his  lovely  partner. 

I  had  previously  that  morning  given  orders  that  a  coach 
should  be  sent  for  my  honest  neighbor  Flamborough  and  his 
family ;  by  which  means,  upon  our  return  to  the  inn,  we  had 
the  pleasure  of  finding  the  two  Miss  Flamboroughs  alighted 
before  us.  Mr.  Jenkinson  gave  his  hand  to  the  eldest,  and  my 
son  Moses  led  up  the  other  (and  I  have  since  found  that  he  has 


Itj2  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

taken  a  real  liking  to  the  girl,  and  my  consent  and  bounty  he 
shall  have,  whenever  he  thinks  proper  to  demand  them.)  We 
were  no  sooner  returned  to  the  inn,  but  numbers  of  my  par- 
ishioners, hearing  of  my  success,  came  to  congratulate  me  :  but 
among  the  rest  were  those  who  rose  to  rescue  me,  and  whom 
I  formerly  rebuked  with  such  sharpness.  I  told  the  story  to 
Sir  William,  my  son-in-law,  who  went  out  and  reproved  them 
with  great  severity ;  but  finding  them  quite  disheartened  by 
his  harsh  reproof,  he  gave  them  half  a  guinea  a-piece  to  drink 
his  health,  and  raise  their  dejected  spirits. 

Soon  after  this  we  were  called  to  a  very  genteel  entertain- 
ment, which  was  dressed  by  Mr.  Thornhill's  cook.  And  it  may 
not  be  improper  to  observe  with  respect  to  that  gentleman,  that 
he  now  resides,  in  quality  of  companion,  at  a  relation's  house, 
being  very  well  liked,  and  seldom  sitting  at  the  side  table,  except 
when  there  is  no  room  at  the  other ;  for  they  make  no  stranger 
of  him.  His  time  is  pretty  much  taken  up  in  keeping  his  rela- 
tion, who  is  a  little  melancholy,  in  spirits,  and  in  learning  to 
blow  the  French  horn.  My  eldest  daughter,  however,  still 
remembers  him  with  regret ;  and  she  has  even  told  me,  though 
I  make  a  secret  of  it,  that  when  he  reforms  she  may  be  brought 
to  relent.  But  to  return,  for  I  am  not  apt  to  digress  thus ; 
when  we  were  to  sit  down  to  dinner  our  ceremonies  were  going  to 
be  renewed.  The  question  was,  whether  my  eldest  daughter, 
as  being  a  matron,  should  not  sit  above  the  two  young  brides ; 
but  the  debate  was  cut  short  by  my  son  George,  who  proposed 
that  the  company  should  sit  indiscriminately,  every  gentleman 
by  his  lady.  This  was  received  with  great  approbation  by  all, 
excepting  my  wife,  who,  I  could  perceive,  was  not  perfectly 
satisfied,  as  she  expected  to  have  had  the  pleasure  of  sitting 
at  the  head  of  the  table,  and  carving  the  meat  for  all  the  com- 
pany. But,  notwithstanding  this,  it  is  impossible  to  describe 
our  good-humor.  I  can't  say  whether  we  had  more  wit  among 
us  now  then  usual ;  but  I  am  certain  we  had  more  laughing, 
which  answered  the  end  as  well.  One  jest  I  particularly  re- 
member :  old  Mr.  Wilmot  winking  to  Moses,  whose  head  was 
turned  another  way,  my  son  replied,  "  Madam,  I  thank  you." 
Upon  which  the  old  gentleman,  drinking  upon  the  rest  of  the 
company,  observed,  that  he  was  thinking  of  his  mistress :  at 
which  jest  I  thought  the  two  Miss  Flamboroughs  would  have 
died  with  laughing.  As  soon  as  dinner  was  over,  according 
to  my  old  custom,  I  requested  that  the  table  might  be  taken 
away,  to  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  all  my  family  assembled 
once  more  by  a  cheerful  fireside.  My  two  little  ones  sat  upon 


VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELr*. 


each  knee,  the  rest  of  the  company  by  their  partners.  I  had 
nothing  now  on  this  side  of  the  grave  to  wish  for  ;  all  my  cares 
were  over  ;  my  pleasure  was  unspeakable.  It  now  only  re- 
mained, that  my  gratitude  in  good  fortune  should  exceed  my 
former  submission  in  adversity. 


i 


A     000  262 


680 


